


Stop the World

by discoveries



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec is Magnus' ~muse~, Alec is a model, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, M/M, Magnus is a fashion designer, Magnus scouted Alec from Izzy's facebook and made him into a model, Reunion Fic, references real fashion designers/shows/collections but prior knowledge isn't necessary, sorry this trope has probably been done 1000 times before
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2018-12-01 06:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11480487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discoveries/pseuds/discoveries
Summary: 'Magnus Bane likes to think he lives with no regrets - but maybe, he thinks, as he stares down at the ad spread before him, he might have one.Alec Lightwood looks absolutely stunning, as always. He’s not the only model in the picture, but he’s the only one worth looking at, in Magnus’ ever humble opinion. His dark eyes track over the page: Alec’s face is turned in profile, though the suit he’s immaculately dressed in is on full display, and he still looks stand-out gorgeous.'Magnus Bane has a great life. He's still living in his beloved New York City, his fashion label is still relevant, and he has amazing friends around him. It would be perfect, if not for Alec Lightwood. The popular male model that Magnus himself scouted seems to be making a name for himself and it's getting harder and harder for Magnus to ignore him and the feelings he once had. It gets impossible when after four years of keeping out of eachother's way, Alec does something to bridge the gap between them.





	1. [prologue]

**Author's Note:**

> i'm new to this fandom, this trope is probably over done ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> this isn't going to be too heavy, but i'm not so sure about the speed of the ~burn~
> 
> most of this is written already, i hope you enjoy the ride!

Magnus Bane likes to think he lives with no regrets. He’s a grown man - in his thirty-six years on this Earth he’s done plenty of foolish things, and though a lot of these caused a great deal of hardship - or at the very least, mild shame and embarrassment - it’s all character-building, right? So the idiotic (usually drunk) shenanigans commit in his past aren’t really hard to swallow. He can’t begrudge various decisions he’s made throughout his life either, because they all led him to this point. He lives in his beloved New York; actually owns his own penthouse apartment in Brooklyn even, a real accomplishment for someone his age. He has the same trusty band of misfits for friends he’s had for over a decade, and even a few newer, younger additions to his inner circle he has come to treasure just as much. His fashion label is as popular as ever, riding high for what is still seen as an ‘indie fashion brand’ and probably always will - the fashion publications and blogs are kind in their coverage, still writing about him and still happy to gush over his signature aesthetics, using buzzwords like _bold_ and _subversive_ and _genius._ So yeah, his life is good, really good. He can’t complain.

 

The morning sunlight streams through the windows of his studio (“atelier” he likes to call it, which has his friends scoffing and calling him pretentious), New York is alive and buzzing around him and some absolute darling has brought him a delectable dark roast which is serving as the perfect way to start this lovely, beautiful day on which he’s contemplating his happy life.

 

He gets to enjoy this zen state of being (ignoring all the work he _should_ be doing) for around twenty minutes more before Catarina sweeps into the studio, dark skin glistening beautifully in the light as she glides across the open space and drops the latest edition of _L’Uomo Vogue_ on his white desk. Magnus feels trepidation creep over him as he eyes the magazine, suddenly overcome with the fact his good morning is about to end. His friend doesn’t say a word, just looks at him with a neutral expression, an absolute vision of beauty and grace in her rust-coloured sheath dress ( _divine_ on her, like everything else she wears), and so with a hitched breath he reaches out a finger, black nail polish obscuring the text at the bottom of the cover as he draws it closer to himself. Hesitantly, as if the paper is going to bite him.

 

He knows what it means, to have this land on his desk. Italian Vogue in general he could possibly pass off as a whim on her part, or perhaps there was a particular editorial or campaign she wanted to discuss with him. The Italian _men’s_ publication however, realistically only means one thing.

 

Beginning to flick through the thing, Magnus fights to keep his face neutral, affecting casualness as he rhythmically flips the pages, not knowing which page he’s looking for, but knowing that it’ll be very clear once he finds it. And find it he does, movement immediately ceasing once he catches something unmistakably familiar. With a shaky breath he presses the heel of his hand to where the two open pages meet, dragging it up the spine of the magazine to flatten it and allow him to better see the image on the glossy paper.

 

Magnus Bane likes to think he lives with no regrets - but maybe, he thinks, as he stares down at the ad spread before him, he might have one.

 

Alec Lightwood looks absolutely stunning, as always. He’s not the only model in the picture, but he’s the only one worth looking at, in Magnus’ ever humble opinion. His dark eyes track over the page: Alec’s face is turned in profile, though the suit he’s immaculately dressed in is on full display, and he still looks stand-out gorgeous. He’s standing in some picture-perfect mediterranean harbour town, stance masculine and casual as if he’s on nothing more than an afternoon stroll with his stylish friends. Magnus tries not to let his hands shake. Realistically, he knows this photo has been edited to death, everything tweaked and filtered to make it flawless, but this… It’s all Alec, still. The man has always been so devastatingly good-looking, and never looks anything short of perfect whenever he crops up like this: in magazines; in photos on blogs; on social media and in Magnus’ dreams - sleep being where he’s most susceptible to lingering memories from the past and the closest thing to regret he’ll ever let himself get.

 

“Dolce and Gabbana, really?” he says with exasperation after a long pause because he has to acknowledge this eventually, pulling his fingers away from where they’ve been unconsciously tracing the artful stubble covering Alec’s perfect jawline, trying not to let it show that he’s affected by this at all. But it’s just-- he’s more tanned than Magnus remembers, and his usually-wild hair is slicked back artfully, his hazel/green gaze piercing even when it’s focused somewhere off-camera. Alec looks the same and yet so far from the man Magnus used to know. He looks every inch the European (wet) dream. Glittered eyelids flutter as Magnus turns the page to see another shot for the campaign, this time Alec and the other incredibly handsome male models lounging on a yacht in their pristine white and navy designer gear, before he flickers his eyes back up to Catarina. Her expression hasn’t changed, which is actually nice because at least there’s no hesitance or pity there like there would have been if this were Clary or, god forbid, Isabelle. His oldest friends know him the best, and they are indispensable, so he’s glad the news has come from one of them. And because she knows he wants none of that pussy-footing around the issue (or his wretched _feelings)_ , Catarina just examines the exquisite bracelets dangling at her wrist and says, “it’s their new collection, _Portofino_. They gave L’Uomo the first print, unsurprisingly. But it’ll be showing up elsewhere soon enough, even if it’s not major enough to be everywhere.” It sounds like she’s discussing the week’s weather report. Magnus clutches his coffee cup to fight the tremor in his hands as she speaks again: “He’s doing quite well for himself, isn’t he?”

 

It’s a rhetorical question - just as inane as it would have been if she had gone with something like _‘he looks good, doesn’t he?’ -_ because the answer is just too obvious. Magnus fights the urge to scoff. Alec’s apparently one of the faces for part of Dolce and Gabbana’s Spring/Summer campaign for god’s sake - he’s doing _very_ well. He couldn’t be further from the novice he was four years ago. Magnus feels his heart crack at the thought of it, and not for the first time, forces himself to steer away from those memories. No good will come of it.

 

Before anymore can be said - or left unsaid - Magnus flips the magazine shut with a dramatic sweep of his hand and stands.

 

He’s happy for Alec. Really, he is. That’s why, no matter how he _feels_ , he can’t let this be a regret.  Doesn’t regret getting him into modelling the first place, putting him in the spotlight and unknowingly sharing him with the rest of the world. Doesn’t regret encouraging him to give it a real shot when other offers started coming in. He doesn’t regret letting Alec go. Alec is getting work, _good_ work, and that fact alone is a testament to the fact the right decision had been made. He’s good at this, and he deserves all the opportunities and the success in the world. It’s just as the saying goes:

 

If you love something, set it free.

 

“Well, what a lovely shot in the arm to get me going this morning,” he drawls, immediately putting on airs. “I do so love looking at beautiful things.” And Alec has always been the most exquisite creature Magnus has ever laid his eyes on. “Must be why I keep _you_ around, darling,” he adds, quirking a smile at Catarina who watches him without judgement, knowing to keep quiet and wait when it comes to this particular sore subject. Sometimes, albeit very rarely, when Magnus is feeling particularly sore or fragile he’ll come to one of them about it, but usually he likes to pretend it’s no big deal. He’s glad for the fact his friends let him do that with no judgement. He rounds the desk and wraps an arm around her waist, ushering her away from his desk and to the other side of the studio, as far away from the magazine as he can get. “Now I know we have to discuss casting targets for the show, but if we could put that on pause, I simply must show you these samples I received for the next collection. There is an apricot shade that’s absolutely divine, but I have no idea what to do with it--”

 

The magazine stays face-down on his desk all throughout the day, until long after the sun has gone down. Many hours later and the last to leave as usual, Magnus does a sweep of the studio before heading home, hesitating when he reaches the desk. He’s been avoiding it since he’d whisked Catarina away to distract himself with the preliminary ideas for an upcoming collection. Alone now and with no one to judge him, he picks the publication up reverently, holding it to his chest and laying his hand over the cover, giving himself just one moment to breathe.

 

He’ll take it home and put it with all the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this is just the prologue, chapters will be longer, promise!)
> 
> i just started a [tumblr for AO3-related things](https://disc0veries.tumblr.com/)! so far there's only a few reblogs of inspiration for the fic but i intend to post headcanons/updates/snippets there too!  
> if you have any comments/questions/criticisms (yikes) you're more than welcome to message me/drop an ask there!
> 
> like i said a lot of this is already written, so stay tuned for the next part!


	2. i've always been scared of the sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the response from just the prologue, y'all are so kind and nice and thanks I really appreciate it!
> 
> * _Magnus Bane_ (italicized) refers to Magnus' fashion house/brand. (Not very imaginative I know but Magnus' has a fantastic name, perfect for a brand, and if Vera and Yohji can do it then he can too!)
> 
> I don't want to bombard you with information before you read, so there is an endnote clarifying the timeline of the fic and also providing a lil extra information on things mentioned in this chapter if anyone needs it. A lot of it is covered within the update itself though so I recommend reading first! 
> 
> Please enjoy the 'Malec Fashion AU Tragic Backstory' *gasp*

The box is a secret he’s fairly sure he’s managed to keep from everyone, even Ragnor. No doubt his best friend suspect he has something like it - Magnus has always been sentimental - but he’s never gone looking and Magnus has never deigned to show him. It feels like shame; like an admittance that maybe, just maybe, he made a mistake. Usually it’s hidden in the very back of his walk-in closet out of sight, (never quite) out of mind, but tonight it’s blatant and impossible to ignore where it sits proudly on the coffee table in his living room. It haunts from there, lingering like a ghost over his shoulder as he stands with his back to it, alone on his balcony with a glass of wine and succumbing to recollection.

 

The box is full of tokens of the past, little regrets kept to remind him of what was and what will probably never be. The issue of L'Uomo Catarina had brought him is next to it, due to be added, where it will join the other magazines Magnus has found Alec in. It's the rest of the contents, though, that are far more precious. The first ever casting polaroid Magnus had taken of Alec the day they met. Alec had been unbelievably awkward and unsure, flustered at the situation his sister had landed him in, and it had transferred into the photo - to Magnus’ secret pleasure. Everything else was in there too: a torn piece of paper where Magnus had first jotted down Alec’s measurements, along with scribbles of initial ideas that had entered his head on first sight. More polaroids joined over the time they knew each other. Some purely for business purposes: updated headshots and full-length shots from different angles Magnus would use as references. Some were much more candid: Alec curiously fingering a sequinned bolero half-finished on a mannequin; another of him dressed in a rose-colored organza shirt with perhaps a few too many ruffles and looking severely unhappy about it; one of both he and Magnus bickering during a fitting that Izzy had snapped without their knowledge. What eventually found its way into the box at the end of it all was a notebook crammed full with notes and sketches devoted entirely to _Alexander_ , the awkward accountancy graduate who had just been offered a permanent position off an internship at a no-name company. The boy who liked his family and sports, who didn’t care about fashion and had absolutely no idea how beautiful he was, inside and out.

 

It all began with taking Isabelle Lightwood on as an assistant, giving a girl with no experience in the fashion business a chance; a foot in the door of an elusive industry. She hadn’t made the shortlist of candidates up for interview but she’d shown up anyway, a hurricane wrapped up in a jaw-dropping dress and five-inch heels, so sure that she was the one Magnus needed to hire. She was plucky and determined - Magnus saw something in her that day and hired her immediately, and she’d become a fast friend with her fun-loving attitude and dedication to the job. Finding Alec had come about by total chance even beyond that - a glimpse of him on Izzy's facebook page as she browsed it on her break had Magnus just desperate to dress the tall, dark boy, or _at least_ get to see him in the flesh. He was gorgeous - closer to conventional beauty than the unusual, striking faces Magnus was used to seeing in the fashion industry and yet still the loveliest, most captivating thing he’d ever seen. Something about Alec’s look screamed ‘handsome sports star’ and Magnus found himself itching for the contrast the young man would make with his ethereal, elaborate design aesthetic.

 

It's very possible that if it hadn’t been such a novelty for Izzy to have her brother come in to model in-house and if Alec hadn’t been a broke new graduate nothing would have come of it, but the lure of a bit of extra cash on the side and Izzy’s insistence had gotten Alec into the studio that first time, and that had been it. At first Magnus just had him try things on - as a designer he liked to make clothes for and display them on a wide range of body types, and Alec was tall and athletic and a new challenge. It was pure curiosity. It hadn’t taken long however, for ideas and inspiration to strike Magnus randomly at all times in the day - all pieces he eventually pictured on Alec’s frame. Somewhere down the line, in Alec Magnus had discovered the fabled thing all artists longed to find: a muse.

 

So, Alec had graduated from a glorified human mannequin, to a muse, to an actual _model_ \- Magnus wanted Alec to be the face of his ready-to-wear collection, and though Alec had been unsure at first, he soon learned that whatever Magnus laid his sights on he eventually got, one way or another. It wasn’t easy - Alec was naturally reserved, embarrassed at the attention and awkward in his own body. Eventually he learned how to relax in front of a camera, how to pose and how to show off the clothes in a way that could sell them. And he did it _well_ . It seemed only natural then to have Alec actually walk for him at his next show. Magnus would be showing the collection for Men's’ Fashion Week, and since it was practically built around Alec and the near-endless inspiration he provided, it seemed untrue to his vision to _not_ have Alec there. The collection _was_ Alec.

 

His walk of course had been absolutely atrocious. It had only gotten worse when he'd finally learned that Magnus wasn’t a no-name designer like he’d thought, and that the fashion show he’d agreed to was actually a feature of New York Men’s Fashion Week. Magnus still remembers calling in a favour to Raphael, whom he'd summoned to help train an absolute amateur to walk just a month before the main event of the year. One look at Alec and Raphael had turned to Magnus, rolling his eyes because he knew him too well, knew that Magnus was invested in this awkward boy as more than just a model. His surly friend had helped him anyway despite the enormity of the task, and his usual cutting wit and strict demeanor eventually shaped Alec into a half-decent runway model.

 

Magnus and Alec spent a lot of time together over those six months. There’d always been an attraction there, brazen flirting on Magnus’ part and a lot of flustering on Alec’s. The amount of exposure they had to each other eventually had Alec easing up and Magnus relaxing his airs a little, and it had been enough to strike up a friendship and a banter that came naturally to them. They got close, their conversations becoming about more than just the brand and fashion and modelling. Finding common ground between them despite their differences and learning how to deal with and read each other’s quirks had been a gradual process, and a lot of fun. The spark between them grew into a young flame, one that warmed them both to the core. Even if they didn’t speak about it - to each other or anyone - there was a tenderness in the way they looked at, spoke to, and navigated around each other.

 

Magnus’ collection that season was his best yet; he was bursting with inspiration the likes of which he hadn’t felt since school, full of innovators and free spirits as it was. He was falling in love again after a period of strangely content loneliness that he suddenly didn’t miss at all. It had been an amazing feeling.

 

The show went off without a hitch, Alec looking poised and perfect despite his inexperience, showing off Magnus’ hard work, _embodying_ it in a way no other being on this earth could. High on adrenaline and success afterwards, Alec had pulled him aside backstage and taken him in his arms for an elated embrace. Physical affection wasn't that unusual to them by that point. Magnus was a tactile person by nature, and despite the fact Alec was the opposite, the fittings and adjustments they constantly went through in the studio meant he got used to it fairly quickly. Once they got to know each other better, there were a lot more innocent touches outside of the sphere of Magnus' workplace - a hand on Alec's arm during engaging conversations, a fleeting touch to Magnus' lower back as they stepped up to a counter at a coffee shop, thighs pressed together in a bar booth crammed with all their friends. The hug had been more than enough in moment, bright and happy with success, but then Alec had pulled away just a little, had looked into Magnus’ eyes and then they’d come together in a kiss that shook Magnus to the core. He’d never had a kiss like that - it was everything. It was the culmination of everything they’d been through together: helping Alec transition from someone with terrible self-worth into someone who carried himself with confidence; himself finding the inspiration he hadn’t even known had been missing and reaching new heights as a designer and creator; the two of them both discovering someone they hadn’t even known they’d wanted or needed in each other.

 

The next couple of weeks were bliss. Nothing much changed in that they had always spent a lot of time in each other’s company, usually in Magnus’ loft or his floor of the studio, but there was open affection in the way they interacted with each other from that point. It felt like a fairytale and Magnus was hopeful and optimistic for this new thing between them. But before he’d even had a chance to contemplate their Happily Ever After, it was taken away from them.

 

* * *

 

_The studio was as it always was late at night: empty save for Magnus, all lights but the one above him switched off as he sat at a drawing station, crudely sketching another design while it was fresh in his mind. It was so rare to find inspiration so soon after a show when he could feel nothing but exhaustion, and to ignore its call would have been pure folly. Alec had texted a little while earlier asking if he could come over and Magnus had agreed, thinking nothing of it - any excuse and any pocket of time they had to spend time with each other, they generally took it. When Alec had finally arrived, not immediately launching into conversation and instead lingering at a table, fingers trailing over the station, the elder started to feel a most unwelcome apprehension creep over his shoulders towards his chest._

 

_“So,” Magnus said despite himself, breaking the silence but not pausing his sketching. The dread in his stomach told him the time had come. “Catarina passed on all the interest we’ve been receiving about you, then?” There was no use beating around the bush, after all. Holding the elusive final spot in the show and then having the collection he was the face of go live on the Magnus Bane website the same day was bound to attract attention. Being an amateur and falling into this whole thing entirely by mistake, Alec hadn’t even had an agent, so as a casting agent and executive of the brand, Catarina had received questions about this mysterious new model. Not a whole lot, but enough to send a clear message of Alec’s budding proficiency at the job. Fashion Weeks weren’t just payslips for models after all - a showing at these events was also exposure, the chance to strut yourself in front of a sea of influential people and catch someone’s eye to get even more work. Magnus wished he could have said it was a surprise, but he’d known this would happen the moment he saw the photographs from Alec’s first real shoot. He was a beautiful man, and yet still felt genuine in a way few models did. That little something extra he had made him impossible to ignore._

 

_A long pause._

 

_“...Yeah. I--”_

 

_Alec had never been one for talking. Especially when what he had to say was something that had the capacity disappoint the people around him. His hesitance, therefore, told Magnus all he needed to know. After all, he’d been there the whole time - he’d seen Alec begin to enjoy the work, even if he remained somewhat bemused as to how he’d ended up there at all. It came fairly easy to someone who looked like him naturally, and the lure of a job that paid well and didn’t see him stuck behind a desk five days a week was bound to be strong for someone so young. Magnus felt his heart stutter, and then crack. His hand stalled but his eyes stayed on the pencil sketch in front of him. He’d thought he was ready for this, but--_

 

_“And I suppose you’ve heard from Tessa already. Her agency is great - I’ve known her for a long time and she’s a lot better than some of the vampires in this business.” It had started out of the desire to prevent silence, but then his mouth was moving without his consent and he couldn’t bring himself to stop: “I’m sure she’s told you that you’d do very well in Europe; she’s probably offered you a contract and a way over there already--”_

 

_“Magnus.” He’d needed that interruption - he was starting to feel a little hysterical. Alec always did have a knack for knowing when to shut Magnus up. “I--”_

 

_Blinking away his blurred vision Magnus forced his lips into a tight smile, finally turning to look at Alec and immediately regretting it, because the other looked just as wrecked as he felt. Alec drew closer and Magnus stood to welcome him into his space, desperate to be close as always. Even if it hurt, now._

 

_“It’s just an option, Magnus. Who knows how it’d work out. I’m not even really qualified. I don’t even know if I want to do it. I mean, it’s all a little bit ridiculous, right? ...And anyway, if-” Magnus closed his fist at his side, because somehow he knew what was coming: “If you ask me not to go, then I won’t.”_

 

_There it was. Finally, the (tentative) verbal acknowledgement of what was growing between them. That flame, that was still so small, but had the potential to grow into something so much bigger, so much stronger. It wasn’t there yet though; still easy to snuff out with minimal damage. Thankfully._

 

_“Alexander,” he said softly, and with a smile he couldn’t help but tinge with slight sadness. “Who do you think contacted Tessa about you in the first place?”_

 

_So yes, Magnus had planned for this just in case, because he’d never expected to be the only person to see how brilliant Alec really was. What he never expected however, was how much it would hurt to look into Alec’s eyes and see that at least part of him wanted to go. Alec always had such expressive eyes, and they could never tell a lie. He knew this was precious Alexander asking if he really deserved this kind of a chance. It was precious Alexander asking Magnus to tell him to stay, not just because of what they had but also at least partly because he didn't believe something like this should be happening to him. Magnus wasn't going to do that._

 

_“I told you were special, and now we know that wasn't totally just my bias. You are worthy of this chance, and it is an amazing opportunity. The kind some people dedicate their whole selves to chasing and yet still never get.” His hand shook as he raised it to Alec’s face, resting it on his cheek reverently. “Whether it works out or not, you have the chance to try. You can see what you’re made of and you can experience the world while doing it. You’ve been so busy looking after other people that you haven’t had your own adventure yet. You’re still so young, you should live your life for yourself first, and look for everything else later.”_

 

It was perhaps a dirty move, using the eight year age gap between them like that, but Magnus did think he had a point. Alec was twenty-three, near enough fresh out of college, and at a totally different stage of his life than Magnus was. To turn down such an opportunity in favour of settling down so young was a mistake, if Magnus let himself think logically. Alec needed a chance to live a life of his own, for himself.

 

And Alec couldn’t deny it either. They both knew what they felt for each other - but neither of them were to know how it would end up. If Alec gave this chance up for something that ultimately didn’t work out, he’d be overcome with regret. Even if he stayed for them, if Alec gave into all the what if’s further down the line it could give birth to resentment, ugly and festering until it potentially killed what they had. Magnus adored Alec and wanted to be with him, but he couldn’t stand the thought of depriving him of something so special, something that had the opportunity to be amazing and help him grow. He couldn’t stand the thought of Alec coming to resent him for it, either. That was the first conversation they had about it, but not the last. It had taken weeks to reach the final decision, but in the end, and at the tentative encouragement from the people around him new and old that he cared for, he’d reached the same conclusion Magnus had. Whatever they had was so new and so unsure that it ultimately wasn’t worth the risk. Neither of them were happy to part ways, but they did it anyway.

 

And the rest was history. Their friends had watched but ultimately let them come to that decision themselves. After a casting interview, Alec signed with Tessa’s agency and not long later he was on a plane to Italy to see what would happen.

 

* * *

 

Four years is a long time - a lot had happened since then. Alec had started with the usual small jobs, though his part in the _Magnus Bane_ ‘Dead Men Tell No Tales’ collection and show had been a shot in the arm of his fledgling career, and he seemed to always have some sort of work which was nothing short of remarkable. Magnus continued as he always had with his friends at his side, though now he designed his clothes for a specific body that would never wear them. He kept a close eye on Alec’s career as it grew, his friends never confronting him about it but instead supplying him with snippets of information without judgement or comment. Even Isabelle, who parted ways with Magnus professionally so she could keep him as a friend, stopped giving him sad eyes during their coffee dates after a while. When she met Simon, a nerd-cute sound engineer totally smitten with her, first dating then eventually moving in together, Magnus had been happy for her, and thankfully not bitter despite what he'd been through. He still thought of Alec often, but the reminiscing only left him feeling a little melancholy instead of miserable. They'd parted amicably, which probably helped the process, easing the pain though not completely eradicating it. Whilst Alec of course came back to New York a few times over the years to visit his loved ones or work the occasional job, Magnus did his best to avoid him completely in those times. It was better that way, for the both of them.

 

And now Alec’s efforts are coming to a head. While he’s hardly a household name or a supermodel - male models very rarely get that big anyway -  landing a deal with a big brand the likes of Dolce and Gabbana is huge. It was likely padding out his bank account nicely, but even more than that it’s the intangible capital that really matters: the work was the kind of exposure a model just couldn’t buy. That helps ease the ache too, now. It’s a type of validation, a comfort to Magnus and likely to Alec too that their sacrifice hadn’t been made in vain.

 

Draining the last of the wine in his glass, Magnus stares into the New York night and tells himself that he _does_ an amazing life; one with no regrets. His decision had been the right one, and he would linger on it no longer. May begins to make way for June, which means it's crunch time and that he needs to be focused and present at work. Early July would see Men’s Fashion Week take over New York once more, and he has a brand to uphold and a collection to finalise. With his head held high, he turns back into his apartment, banishing thoughts of Alec to the back of his mind as he returns the box shielding his bruised heart to it’s hiding place in the back of his closet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shrugs* i just really think that while Magnus would be drawn to Alec in basically any universe, i think in the regular world he would be a little more wary of the (admittedly shorter than canon but still significant) age gap between them, which is 8 years in this AU. While he isn't immortal, i'm a firm believer in magnus' maturity and wisdom whatever 'verse he's in, and i really think faced with a situation like the one in this AU, he'd want Alec to go out into the world, cultivate experience and learn who he is and live his life. he wouldn't want him to throw that away for a chance at love that might not even work out. probably because magnus has thrown himself into relationships in that way before. so yeah sorry if this disappoints anyone but rather than something messy and catastrophic i think a mature (but no less painful) decision is more realistic (and sad!)
> 
> TIMELINE CLARIFICATION/EXTRA INFO:  
> • Malec first meet when Alec is 23 (and has completed a college degree + a one-year paid intership) and Magnus is 31 (the _Magnus Bane_ brand is already a few years old and finishing its come-up, he went to design school + then worked for other brands before going independent)  
>  • The collection Alec models for (and inspires) is the Magnus Bane A/W ’14 Collection, officially titled ‘Dead Men Tell No Tales’, which was shown at NYFW:Men’s in Feb 2013. See a moodboard of inspiration/looks [**HERE**](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XQr5005395SJ4bIxJPfPAIEOWojFgDkVNnkIFS61sko/edit?usp=sharing) for the vibe of the collection (mostly Galliano inspired. Think ‘glam pretty boy pirates’ – lots of silks and velvets, gold and silver embellishments, pantaloons, brocade, big buckles and boys in makeup. Basically Magnus in a pirate au lmao)  
>  • They do not see each other for four years, during which Alec is living in Italy as a model and Magnus is throwing all his time and energy into expanding _Magnus Bane_. Alec visits home when he can during this time (not often because he can’t afford it that much) either to visit or do work in NY (shoots, FWs, etc.) Magnus manages to avoid him whenever he can
> 
>    
> if there's any mistakes they're mine, this work is unbeta'd!  
> please comment with questions, etc. or otherwise holler @ me on [tumblr](https://disc0veries.tumblr.com/)


	3. think of the tender things that we were working on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, thank you so much for all the kudos, bookmarks, comments and subscriptions!! it means so much that people are enjoying this self-indulgent foray of mine. love you all!!  
>  
> 
> in other news: there's a new POV in this chapter, who could it possibly be??? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Fashion is forever. Normally, that phrase is taken in the context that the pursuit of fashion and style will continue forevermore, or maybe it refers to the timelessness of good style - like how the Little Black Dress will always be a staple in a wardrobe, or how one will always look divine in a well-tailored suit. Magnus takes the statement in the cynical way only a designer can - that the fashion calendar, the annual cycle of events and seasons and collections, will never cease. Every designer, seamstress, model and journalist is a slave to it, so even with Spring/Summer 2018 showcases on the immediate horizon, the next season already looms behind, demanding at least some attention. There’ll be another Fashion Week in each major fashion capital the following January/February which means Magnus has to be ahead of the curve, preparing ideas and components for his next collection even though his current one still needs the finishing touches before the show next month.

 

Despite its clout and influence in the fashion world, _Magnus Bane_ remains a relatively small brand compared to others, which means it’s all hands on deck virtually all year round. Magnus is blessed to have Ragnor and Catarina on his team - the brand is almost as much theirs as it is his, and Magnus trusts that they understand and share his vision for the current collection and the brand as a whole. The confidence he has in them means he can leave the two of them to not only supervise his in-house staff finishing the collection, but also work with his casting agents to pick the models that will walk for his show in the upcoming Fashion Week while he heads across the world to source fabrics for the A/W collection.

 

It means everything to him to remember where he came from; to stay true to himself and to put parts of who he is into his work. Indonesia welcomes him back as always, drawing him into its warm embrace like a mother as soon as he steps off the plane. Though the hottest part of the year has passed, the islands still bestow favorable weather upon him when he arrives in the first week of June. It’s a breathtaking place, the spread of the nation swatched in saturated shades of oranges and pinks, vibrant reds, lush greens and crystalline blues. Central Jakarta is outstanding in its feeling of newness - tall, immaculate skyscrapers and the familiar twinkling lights of a city that he enjoys his first night in his home country, before he heads further away from the metropolis the following day. Maybe it's sentiment, or the rose-tinted glasses of a native who didn't actually spend much time living here, but Magnus thinks the outer areas are possibly even more stunning - with less polish and facade than the tourist areas, it feels real, as seems full to the brim with beauty and inspiration. The streets are alive with the sights and sounds of life everywhere you turn here, similar to New York in that aspect and yet oh so different in execution. There is absolutely no pretentiousness here, just the vivacious and unapologetic existence of a friendly and lively people going about their daily lives. Magnus always finds himself recentering when he’s here, feeling a calm and a happiness he doesn’t even realise he’s missing until he arrives. He loves New York and wouldn’t live anywhere else, but it’s like his soul knows he’s home whenever he steps on this ground. He basks in the feeling, eating amazing food and drinking with strangers in between work visits and meetings, letting the heat and the language and the peace of it all wash over him.

 

He’s standing on a street corner in the orange haze of dusk when his phone rings. The world buzzes around him as he checks the caller ID - it’s Ragnor, probably with the lowdown on the castings now the whole process should be over. The old bugger will likely complain about the international call charges later, but Magnus would rather avoid the strop the other would throw if he didn’t answer the call, considering it’s actually fairly important - even if he does trust Ragnor to make important decisions with his business.

 

“Hello darling,” he croons, eager to hear a familiar voice despite enjoying being where he is. “How’d it go?”

 

Ragnor doesn’t bother to return the greeting, because apparently there’s no point in some social niceties when you’ve known each other for the better part of twenty years. He much prefers to cut to the chase. “It went well. Plenty of interest as usual, and dare I say I think we’ve managed a good crop again this year.” Magnus hums, placing a hand on a lamppost and swinging himself around it once, twice. Something in Ragnor’s voice tells him there’s more to come. “And?”

 

There’s a long, pregnant pause that Magnus doesn’t like at all, and then:

 

“...He was there, Maggie. At the casting.”

 

Magnus immediately stops his movements, arm wrapping around the post almost in a hug now so he can lean heavily against it. “Alexander?” he asks for clarification softly - pointlessly. He isn’t stupid; it can’t be anyone else. Alec will always be Magnus’ _‘him’_ ; the man that needs to introduction. The one that got away. Or the one he let _go._

 

“The man himself. He showed up through all the usual channels just like everyone else, looking as dashing as ever, I’m sorry to say. We had no idea he was going to come - we were just as shocked to see the fellow as you probably are now.”

 

Why? Alec had never reached out to Magnus just as Magnus had never done so to him - they’d both kept their distance. Magnus had always assumed it was a silent agreement they shared, a solemn vow not to make this any more difficult, not to cause hurt when it became obvious one of them had inevitably moved on. Why now, when Magnus was finally feeling justified in their decision? More importantly, if Alec had wanted to extend the olive branch as it were, why wait so long? Even four years later, Alec was still turning him inside out.

 

Ragnor, god bless him, is still speaking, so Magnus swallows down his impending breakdown and forces himself to tune back into what he’s saying. “I confronted him about it afterwards. I knew you’d want to know why. He didn’t really give a reason, he only said he didn’t want preferential treatment with regards to the casting decision, but that if he got the job it would mean a lot.”

 

 _It would mean a lot_. Magnus mouths the words to himself, staring at the ground in thought, trying to make sense of them.

 

“But how is this even possible?” he asks his older friend, unable to banish the frown from his face. His brain function is starting to kick back in, which means he’s not only questioning this from a place of hurt, but actual logistics. “He’s in the Portofino campaign. He’s young enough to fit D&G’s runway aesthetic, isn’t he walking for them in Milan later this month?” Milan was the first Fashion Week of the season, running from 17th to 20th June, with Paris following immediately afterwards and then New York at the beginning of July, where Magnus would be showing. “Don’t they have exclusivity?” Of course it’s not unusual for models to walk for multiple brands at multiple fashion weeks, but as a key model for a campaign no matter how minor, Magnus had expected that Alec either wouldn’t be allowed to walk for other brands, or at least wouldn’t _need_ to. The work was good, so the money would be, too.

 

“He’s featured in a non-major campaign - even if it’s in publications it’s nothing _that_ big. It’s not like it’s an underwear or fragrance gig; he’s not a bleeding _spokesmodel_ , Maggie, there’s no need for anything like exclusivity. From where I’m sitting it looks like they’re maybe grooming him for something bigger in the future - he’s their type after all -” Magnus has to concede to that: Alec could be the strong, dark, rugged underwear type easily, “-but right now he’s not their focus. They’re doing that god-awful _Millennials_ thing for Fashion Week and the main collection campaign. Young royalty, children of celebrities, social media influencers and all that vapid nonsense. Alec’s apparently somewhat popular on instagram but not to that degree. Besides, he told me himself - he’s not walking for anyone else other than Dolce and Gabbana, but not because he can’t. And well, us now as well.” Ragnor pauses for a moment, but it’s more to let Magnus process than to give him an opening to comment. The miserable old Brit knows Magnus will talk when he’s ready and has all the information. “We weren’t sure how to proceed, but Magnus - it’s been four years, and he came to you, however indirectly. And he’s your mu--” he aborts that line of argument, and it’s probably for the best. “He’s perfect for the brand. Me and Catarina know that. You know that. The Queen of bloody England knows that. The opportunity presented itself, my dear, so of course we chose him in the casting.”

 

Of course they did. There was no real choice. Magnus would have done the same if he’d been there, despite everything he was feeling or had felt. “You’re right,” he responds eventually, raising his chin and lifting his face to the rapidly-darkening sky. It was the oddest feeling - the churning of happiness/dread in his gut and he didn’t know quite what to do to fight it. He wasn’t feeling so centered anymore - Alexander had always had the uncanny ability to turn his world upside down.

 

“No, you did the right thing. He’s good at his job. He looks the part. He’s always made my designs look good.” It’s too business-like, but he knows that Ragnor hears all the things he doesn’t say - the good _and_ the bad. Magnus remembers how it felt having Alec close, what it was like being so _inspired_ , and the whole cocktail of emotions that had come along with it. It had felt amazing then, but would it feel the same? Surely there was no way. “...Okay,” he settles on eventually, straightening up and letting go of the lamppost he’d been using to keep him upright. “Thanks for letting me know. I’m glad it went well. Things are going to plan here, but I’ll fill you in when I’m done and home, alright?”

 

It’s a snag in the thread for sure, hearing this news now, but Magnus is a grown man and a professional, and he still has a job to do. Sliding his phone back into his pocket he finally crosses the street and heads to his last meeting of the trip, trying not to get bogged down in neither the excitement nor the unease Ragnor’s news had brought him.

 

* * *

 

He hasn’t even been home a full day when the inevitable happens - a call comes through on his phone from Isabelle Lightwood. Magnus sits up straight on his couch, steeling himself before accepting the call.

 

“ _Magnus!_ A little birdie told me my big brother finally grew a pair and attended your model casting after all!” There’s a slight pause and Magnus imagines Izzy gathering all her gorgeous dark hair over one shoulder before she finally asks - falling short on her attempt at false coyness and instead betraying some of her true hesitance - “how do you feel about that?”

 

Izzy - no matter her anonymous source - must already know by now that they went ahead and casted Alec. Magnus feels his defence mechanisms kick in before he even has the chance to think about it, his chin lifting and his chest puffing out in his ‘I’m so fabulous that nothing bothers me’ posture. Somehow he’s already over by his drinks cabinet and pouring himself a scotch. “Of course I’m happy to have him my dear,” he says breezily, resealing the decanter and lifting his glass deftly. Turning on his heel he makes a sweeping gesture through the still air of his apartment despite the lack of audience to witness it, the amber liquid sloshing within the confines of the crystal. “It’s humbling he’d want to come back to his roots, I’d thought that with the Dolce campaign he’d be too big for the likes of _me_ \--”

 

His false grandeur is cut short by Izzy’s exasperated sigh, which forces him to stall in the middle of his living room. He supposes a woman surrounded by as many difficult men as she is learns to cut through bullshit rather effectively most of the time. “Yeah Magnus, I get it. But I’m asking how you - my _friend_ , not the pompous designer - feels about it. I know you and Alec had something special, and--”

 

“ _And_ that’s where I’m going to have to stop you, Isabelle,” he finds himself saying to cut her off, the gentlest sort of authority in his voice that he knows will make her stop and listen. Sometimes it’s nice to be the older and wiser friend - he never got that when it was just him Ragnor and Catarina, before his social circle widened to permit some wayward young souls he inevitably had to coach through life. “I’m just the guy who pulled Alexander through a door he didn’t even know was open to him, that’s all.” It hurts to deny what he’d felt, no matter how short-lived it’d been, but it hurt even more to admit it and acknowledge he’d lost it - given it up.

 

“I’m looking forward to working with him again, though I have to admit I’m curious as to why he showed up at my model casting after so long. Now I know your adorable _inamorato_ is probably there somewhere, so tell dear Sherman hello and that we should all meet up for dinner sometime soon. To change It’s been a while since you’ve shared any gossip from the female side of our world and I simply must be kept in the loop if I’m to consider seriously going into womenswear, yes??”

 

* * * * * *

 

Izzy presses the end call button on her phone, tossing the device to the couch with a sigh before joining it, curling up on one of the cushions.

 

“How’d it go?” That’s Simon, popping his head around the threshold from the kitchen, where he’s cooking up something that smells delicious.

 

“He’s scared. He deflected the questions in usual Magnus fashion and then brought up work to distract me. And god damn, it worked. He says ‘one thousand percent yes’ to us having good seats for the show, by the way.”

 

A smile quirks at Simon’s lips and he steps forward to the back of the couch, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to the crown of Izzy’s head, making her smile too despite herself. “You can’t exactly blame the guy, Iz. You don’t even know what Alec’s game plan is in all this, if he even has one at all. It could just be exactly what it looks like - your brother coming back to work with an old friend who got him started in his career. It’s not like we know for sure anything romantic happened between them. Either way,” he rounds off, kissing her crown again and retreating back to the kitchen, “it’s not our place to interfere.”

 

“I know,” Izzy concedes, with all the petulance of a child as she follows Simon through, wrapping tanned arms around his waist as he stirs a pot on the stove. “I just want everyone to be happy, you know? Magnus has done so much for me, and he’s been so lonely lately. And Alec’s my _big brother_ . I know him better than anyone - I saw how he used to look at Magnus. You should have seen him, Si! He’s never been so affectionate with someone who wasn’t me or Max. Not even Jace.” Simon hums in the way he does when he’s given up trying to talk Izzy down from something, and Isabelle just sighs, hugging him a little tighter. “There was something there. I’ve always thought they’d be good together. Good _for_ each other.”

 

* * * * * *

 

After returning from Indonesia, Magnus’ attention is fixed back onto the immediate issue of his _Downworlders_ collection, to be debuted 12th July at the Men’s Fashion Week when it hit New York. The final confirmation of their date, time slot and venue had come much later than he’d wanted, but alongside adding the finishing touches to the collection looks themselves, he could now finally coordinate the show itself within the exact specifications of its venue. Preparation and design had of course been done ahead of time, but until the confirmed details arrived on Magnus’ desk nothing could be set in stone, and it had been a major source of anxiety for Magnus and his team. The final weeks running up to a big show are always the worst and this season has been no exception, Magnus running himself positively ragged and subsisting on strong coffee and even stronger wine to get himself through the long days and nights.

 

June 18th rolls around - the day after the Dolce and Gabbana show in Milan. With the time difference the reviews and initial press releases finally start to come out, and Magnus tries not to let anyone witness it when he pours over websites and blogs on his laptop. It’s largely what he expects, an attempt to make light of the backlash and protest the designers have received in light of their recent controversial behaviour, and the calculated use of popular and influential young people as models almost overshadowing the collection itself. Even better than that is the almost immediate upload of the entire show on the brand’s YouTube account, meaning that evening Magnus finds himself curled up on his couch beside Raphael as they watch it together on the internet TV Simon had persuaded him to buy months earlier.

 

The music starts and the video fades in to reveal a gilded sacred heart and a multitonal backdrop done in lush reds as the setup for the show. Magnus grabs a handful of popcorn from the bowl between them as the music starts up and the first model appears. It’s immediately clear that they’re going for an almost prom-like theme to match the youth of their models, and for Magnus the setup calls to mind the aesthetics of Luhrmann's adaptation of Romeo and Juliet, punchy and bright patterns, over-the-top embellishments and so on. Somewhat kitschy but as the looks continue - a mixture between sharp, brightly-coloured suits and baggy streetwear with trump card and asian inspired patterns and graphics - Magnus can’t say he dislikes it. It’s hardly groundbreaking but it is Domenico and Stefano’s calling card, what they seem to do best.

 

“It’s very… young,” Raphael remarks of the clothes after a short stretch of silence, Magnus merely nodding wordlessly in response. “And I see what people mean about the choices in model casting.” The addendum is said drily, just before he scoops more popcorn into his hand. Magnus doesn’t doubt his latino dream of a friend’s opinion has been somewhat tainted by being on the receiving end of what was likely a very long-winded lecture from Ragnor on the subject.

 

He has to agree with the sentiment. “It’s bad when even the most casual observer can tell who’s a real model and who is not,” he agrees, recalling comments he’d seen on the internet. Whilst as a designer and a human being Magnus is all for using a wide variety of models of all different colours, shapes and sizes on the catwalk, he does have to wonder if anyone even attempted to coach the kids cast in technique or etiquette. ‘Visionary’ or not, even Magnus had to concede that people who actually knew how to model should be chosen over people who at best will be a publicity stunt or clickbait. He appreciates Dolce and Gabbana’s aims of using the new elite in their show - from what he’s seen there’s members of European royalty, children of famous celebrities, and social network stars all in the lineup - it gives them a sort of credibility amongst the new fashion-conscious youth prowling the internet. It’s not even like it’s new to utilise that kind of personality on the catwalk, but it ruins the illusion and the joy of the clothes a little when the model is either walking like they’re not in control of their own body out of nervousness or smiling and waving at the audience. A runway show should be about the clothes and not the model.

 

“And I did brightly coloured tailoring _seasons_ ago! Though of course mine were a little more… garish. And boundary-pushing” he complains loudly, getting into the spirit of the heckler even though it isn’t really deserved. He’s just bitter because Dolce and Gabbana are so disgustingly rich _and_ they have Alec. “And oh look - crowns! Which they use _all the time_ and that I am also using in my collection. Delightful.” Though admittedly his aren’t of the garish, plastic gold variety that are starting to show up on screen - which he actually likes - but a more ethereal and natural version made of long spindly twigs and (hopefully) wildflowers. ‘A sort of glam blair witch vibe’ was how he’d described it to Ragnor, who had scoffed at him and immediately walked away, though Magnus still thought it was a rather good description. Raphael’s eyes are on the screen but the corner of his mouth is ticking up in the mildest form of amusement which only spurs Magnus on. “It’s nice so far but it’s as commercial as you expect. Do something crazy, boys! Something that isn’t a fake and ultimately meaningless scandal! Boycott Dolce & Gabbana - we should! Boo!”

 

Popcorn sails through the air to crash soundlessly against the screen, eventually falling to the carpet and creating a mess he’ll have to clean up later, but for the moment Magnus is enjoying himself. Especially when Raphael lets himself smile and joins him in bombarding the screen with more kernels.

 

Then Alec turns down onto the runway, in the background of the shot but Magnus would know him anywhere. He’s dressed in one of the suits - thank god, Magnus thinks - his a shade of purple not too bright but not particularly dark either, the lustre of the fabric making the colour gorgeous against his skin tone. He has to give it to them, they chose well when selecting his look because he probably would have looked rather silly in one of the more street-inspired casual looks. He’s at least a head taller than all the other models sharing the catwalk with him currently, and though he’s probably older than a lot of them at twenty-seven years old, the variety of shapes and sizes of the models means he doesn’t stick out too much. A black shirt is set against the amethyst of the suit itself, popping the colour even more and drawing attention to the red and gold sacred heart embellishment over the breast pocket of the jacket. To match there’s a plastic gold crown placed on the back of his head - and thankfully this time around his messy hair has been left as is. He looks confident, the true epitome of the European wet dream - distantly Magnus wonders what people think when they hear him speak with his New Yorker accent rather than the musical lilt of Spanish or Italian they might expect just looking at him. On screen, he continues to stroll down the runway with a relaxed masculine gait that has been refined and made all Alec in the years since Raphael gave him a crash course all those years ago.

 

Even stunned by how good Alec looks and how professional he translates mid-show, the memory makes Magnus huff out a laugh. “Hard to think looking at him now that he’s the same disastrously awkward boy from that first test run,” he quips, almond eyes darting to Raphael by his side.

 

Predictably, his friend scoffs as he too recalls what Alec had been like, getting pulled into the distraction before he might be tempted to ask Magnus about his feelings (god forbid the two of them ever discuss anything of the sort). “Yeah, I totally saved your ass with that impromptu bootcamp on how to control all those long limbs of his. In fact,” he stresses, his latino accent strengthening in a clear signal for incoming sass, “that boy owes all his success to me, because no fool would cast him with a walk like the one he pulled out of his ass when we put him on the spot back then. It was like watching the Titanic sink live, in person. _You_ were totally infatuated with him and even your face was like someone’s baby had just thrown up on your favourite Gucci loafers.”

 

They both break out into what can only be described as giggles, and only recover when Alec has already doubled up on himself and is turning off the runway. The silliness’ high wears off around then, and Magnus feels his smile drop from his face as if it’s fallen victim to gravity as he comes crashing back to reality. It’s hard to see him. He’s happy to see Alec flourishing as a man and a model, but it’s still hard. And if it’s like this with a youtube video, what the hell was it going to be like when he and Alec were back in the same room? Unfortunately, the plummet of his mood doesn’t go unnoticed.

 

“You know, you can tell Isabelle whatever shit you want to,” Raphael says, reaching for more popcorn though his eyes stay fixed on the screen. Of _course_ Raphael has spoken to Isabelle. He didn’t like people as a general rule, but after a while Isabelle had done what she does best and wormed her way into Raphael’s heart. “But I know you, and you can’t bullshit me that easily. Ragnor, too. We worry about you.”

 

God help Magnus, because apparently Raphael did want to address the whole rotten business after all, and just when he’d been glad for his friend’s standoffish ways. He’d never felt so betrayed, which was saying a lot considering two out of three of his best friends were heartless pricks and Camille Belcourt was his ex-girlfriend.

 

His feelings about Raphael asking about his emotions aside, Magnus can’t be mad that apparently all his friends are discussing him behind his back. He knows their hearts are in the right place. Hell, he’s a little worried about himself too if he’s honest, but he’s not the type to bring his problems to someone else’s door. With a sigh he shifts, placing the bowl in his lap so he can move closer and lean his head on Raphael’s shoulder. “...You know I’ve never been good with emotions, or at least knowing if I have the real deal or not,” he begins tentatively, knowing he can trust Raphael with this.

 

“I’ve had a lot of frankly quite terrible relationships. A few times I thought I was in love when looking back I definitely wasn’t.” Whether that was just his first real experiences with platonic love and trust and deep friendship - first with with the older, more mature Ragnor when he was young and impressionable and later with the asexual Raphael, or getting swept up in passion and embarking on a couple of messy, toxic relationships with people he’d rather forget. Magnus had had the kind of childhood that left him longing for love, and he knows he has a history of romanticising things and projecting his wants onto situations they didn’t actually fit. “As tragically cliche as it is, he was my muse and probably always will be, and… I don’t know. Maybe I just got caught up with that at the time, and it wasn’t anything more.” Despite his words, deep down he knows it’s a lie. Magnus had felt a connection with Alec the likes of which he’d never experienced with anyone before; it was as if their souls vibrated on the same frequency, but it was just easier to look back and downplay how he felt. Alec himself however… He’d been a lot younger than Magnus, and didn’t really have any experience in romantic relationships before he’d met Magnus. “And Alec-- I think that maybe he was infatuated with me because I was so different to anything he’d ever known before, and I saved him from a boring life.” The physical distance put between them and the time that had passed since they’d parted ways will have ended that infatuation. Alec can have his pick of whoever, and Magnus expects he’s taken full advantage of that fact over the past few years. “It had to end at some point, so I ended it. Better to do it before anyone got hurt and he realised he’d wasted far too long on whatever it was between us when he could have been discovering himself and what he wanted.”

 

Raphael sighs, but it sounds a lot less pissed off than usual. “...You see, you started that with an almost rational explanation and then somewhere along the way you revealed your true motivation for sending him off into the world, which is your belief that he can do so much better than you.” In an uncharacteristic show of physical affection, Raphael rests his hand over Magnus’, brushing over the first knuckle with his thumb. “He can’t,” he says softly, as the last of the models begin to leave the runway, and Magnus wants so badly to believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *takes microphone* i love raphael santiago  
> thank you for your time *hands it back over*
> 
> yeah so the new pov wasn't alec i'm so sorry!!  
> but i think you'll like the next chapter :')
> 
> if you've got comments/questions/criticisms don't hesitate to comment here or drop a message on [tumblr!!](http://disc0veries.tumblr.com/)


	4. it was always a dream just to know you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha haha ha hhhhhhhh god idk i'm so so sorry. i'm trying to get my head out of my own ass and deal with life and balance things and i think i'm getting better? i'm so sorry for the wait no one probably remembers this dumb old thing i'm so sorry
> 
> almost the new season! i hope you are all happy and healthy and feel good about yourselves  
> i also hope this isn't a letdown, but the first thing is more important
> 
> ps. this chapter is basically the same length as the last three combined so pls forgive me

 

The wait is driving her insane.

 

Izzy likes to think she’s a fairly mature person, but right now she feels like a little kid desperate for Christmas morning to come. As far as she’s concerned, it might as well be Christmas right now.

 

“It’s been an hour since they landed. He should be out here by now,” she says, shifting her weight from foot to foot, glancing over at the arrivals board for the millionth time. Simon, infuriatingly, only smiles, rocking on the balls of his feet as he keeps an eye on the door.

 

“He has to go through checks and pick up his bag Iz, chill.”

 

She doesn’t dignify him with a response, mostly because she knows he’s being rational (for once) and she’s being.. well, the opposite of that.

 

“There’s a bunch of people coming now. Do you see him? He’s so tall, he should really stand out--” It certainly doesn’t help that they’re amongst a crowd of people - relatives and professional types waiting to collect people at Arrivals - Izzy’s so short compared to everyone else she’s not sure that she could spot Alec even with his height.

 

“Oh! I’m pretty sure I see him--” Simon begins, finally starting to sound a little excited himself, but that’s enough for Izzy. She’s about to shove past all these insignificant people in her way when the crowd in front of her seems to part on its own, and in her line of sight and heading towards the automatic doors is her big brother. He’s wearing one of his boring khaki jumpers, the leather holdall he must have used for his carry one slung over a broad shoulder as he wheels two cases across the threshold. He looks a little worn from the flight but his eyes are still attentive if not a little anxious, and there’s a small smile curling at his lips even as his gaze tracks across his surroundings. Looking for her.

 

“Alec!” she calls, unable to stop herself even if she’d wanted to, and immediately those warm hazel eyes snap to her. A small weight lifts itself from around Izzy’s heart and she allows herself to grin, skipping forward gracefully as Alec stops dead, hurriedly pulling the bag from his shoulder and then stepping forward to meet her halfway. Izzy, eager to greet possibly the most important person in her life, leaps into the air so they collide in a crash but Alec, ever stable, catches her easily. His strong arms wrap around her middle to hold her up, and he swings her around once in a circle that has laughter lift from the depths of her chest and burst into flight in the middle of the arrivals hall.

 

Alec smells like no sleep and recycled air once they’ve come to a stop, but Izzy buries her nose into his sweater and savours it all the same. “Welcome home,” she says, overcome with so many emotions at once that it actually takes her by surprise. She hadn’t expected anything but excitement and giddy laughter, but with Alec finally physically here she feels her eyes well up with tears, the ache of his absence coming back anew despite the fact he’s _right here_. It’s a weird emotional reflex, she thinks, but Alec only holds her tighter, burying his face in her glossy hair. Izzy knows her brother, and the fact he’s not saying anything means he feels the same. She laughs, but it’s watery. “I missed you so much, Alec.”

 

She pulls back and Alec lets her, his eyes swirling with emotion even if he’s never been the type to cry openly like her. Instead he attempts a quirk of a smile, reaching a large hand up to brush a thumb under one of her eyes, and the touch is so tender that it makes Izzy’s heart hurt. “I know it hasn’t even been that long, but-” she giggles, laughing at herself. It’s silly to overreact like this, but-- Alec had always been there, hovering at her shoulder and protecting her from anything and everything. Since Alec made the move to Europe, a lot has happened in Izzy’s life. He’s been back for fleeting visits (always work-related) a few times in the past few years, but mostly she’s been on her own. She’d had to learn her own lessons; to become more independent and rely first and foremost on herself, not her big brother. He hasn’t been back for almost a year, and lately her life is just so damn _good,_ at work and at home with Simon. She’s successful and happy and fulfilled and yet… she’d been without her big brother.  Now Alec is finally here, she realises how much she’s missed him. Maybe the distance had been good for them both, codependent as they were, but even with as much as they’ve grown, there’s nothing like being physically there for each other. There’s nothing quite like having her big brother standing right there in front of her, _present_ in her life in every way. Texts and skype calls can only do so much to cover the distance.

 

“Yeah,” Alec says, eyes full of emotion and lips finally breaking into an unapologetic smile. “I still miss you every single day.” He drops a kiss on her forehead before pulling away to finally address Simon, who had let them have their moment knowing full well how important they were to each other. “Simon,” he says, nodding his head and clapping the other on the shoulder. “As much as it physically pains me, I suppose I’ve got to thank you for always keeping an eye on this one. So,” Alec pauses as if it really _is_ difficult to say, glancing at the ceiling before back to the grinning man in question, “thank you.”

 

“It’s been my pleasure,” Simon responds earnestly, pushing his tortoise shell glasses up his nose in a tick Izzy finds the most endearing as he sends a blinding smile her way. She feels a flutter in her chest at the affection she sees there, and gives him a soft smile in return. A second later her attention is back on Alec, and now that initial excitement is waning, she notices just how worn out he looks.

 

“Are you okay, Alec? You look tired.”

 

“It’s been a long flight, Iz,” Simon says, stooping to pick up Alec’s carry bag and grabbing the handle of one of his cases. “Alec may look like a demi-god but at least he suffers through transcontinental plane rides just like the rest of us. Let’s head to the car and get this show on the road.”

 

Alec rolls his eyes - and god, Izzy has missed even that annoying habit of his - before pulling his other case behind him, wrapping his free arm around Izzy’s shoulders. “Damn, a _car_. You guys really are living the outer New York suburban dream, huh?” which earns him a pinch in the side and a quick ‘shut up’ from Izzy in response. Alec couldn’t quite believe it when Izzy had called him saying she was serious enough about a guy to actually move in with him but she had never been more sure of anything in her life, and she hadn’t regretted making the decision to move to the next step with Simon at all. She knew it must have been hard for Alec, to be one of the last to know and also to be somewhat blindsided by the news, despite the fact he’d (reluctantly) met Simon on his first visit home since they started dating. Family came above everything else for her big brother, and though he never said so (probably to stop her from worrying) she knew it was hard for him to be so far removed from everything.

 

As they follow Simon, who’s practically on a mission to get to the parking lot as quick as possible, Izzy thinks about how that must've been a burden on him, which in turn has her going back to just how tired he looks. “Really though,” she says as they finally reach their floor of the parking facility, softly so only he can hear. “Are you okay?”

 

There’s a moment of silence, and then Alec is pulling her closer as Simon starts loading the bags into the trunk of the car just a few meters ahead. “Yeah,” he says in the same softness as before, but then gaining conviction: “yeah. I’m fine now.”

 

* * *

 

Alec ends up in the back seat simply because this way, he can stretch his long legs diagonally across the whole space to achieve the maximum leg room. They’ve just made it out of the madness surrounding the airport, and when Izzy glances back he seems to be relaxing, sinking lower in the seat and shoulders curving inward. He looks like he’s about to fall asleep, but she still isn’t over the fact he’s here yet and wants to talk with him just a little longer before he slips into sleep. Besides, other than telling her he was coming back to New York - to walk for _Magnus_ no less - Alec hadn’t really given her many details about his plans.

 

She can’t keep herself reined in any longer. “So how long are you staying?” she finally asks, feeding Simon a piece of candy when she catches him pouting at her because she’s picking out all the red ones for herself.

 

Alec makes his best attempt at a shrug, sliding down even further so he can rest his head against the bottom of the car window. “Well, my work with Dolce & Gabbana is technically over now,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the view outside of the windowpane, eating up every landmark and signal of _home_ that he can see as they travel. “And I asked my agent not to book me anything after Fashion Week season, so.”

 

That has her turning in her seat to look at her brother, and Simon immediately moves to turn the radio’s volume down a couple of notches, doing an amazing job of holding himself in despite the fact he also seems suddenly very interested in the conversation happening. He’s usually the one firing questions and comments every which way, but he’s done a good job of behaving himself today, knowing Izzy needs to be the one talking to her brother (or wrangling information out of him). He’s also a little scared of Alec, which is both understandable and hilarious.

 

“What? Are you sure it’s alright to be making that kind of decision at this point in your career?”

 

Alec snorts. “It’s _my_ life,” he says with a smile. “But yeah, I have no contractual obligations and I’ve been saving where I can, so I’m fine for money. I just want to be home for a while.”

 

“Home as in here? In New York? For ‘a while’?” Simon eventually cuts in, apparently unable to keep quiet for any longer. Izzy meanwhile can’t help the squeal that escapes her and she catches Simon smiling at her glee out of the corner of her eye. “That’s so amazing! How long for?” she asks, immediately excited at the prospect of something longer than a flying visit.

 

“Don’t worry, I won’t be overstaying my welcome in your domestic haven.” Isabelle reaches over to smack him on the knee because they both know that wasn’t why she asked. Alec will always be welcome in her life and her home. “Jace has a spare room in his apartment, and says it’s open to me for as long as I want it.” Izzy finds herself glad that Jace and Alec have stayed in touch all this time - family wasn’t just Alec and Isabelle after all. Jace had been Alec’s friend from school that the Lightwoods basically adopted in light of his fairly miserable home life as a teen. Jace had become another brother to the Lightwood siblings, but he’d always been more than that to Alec. Neither of them are particularly the demonstrative type, less likely to show and talk about emotions the way Izzy is, but they care about each other deeply, and she’s glad their bond seems to have survived the distance. Then again, she never really expected anything less. Alec doesn’t forge relationships freely, but when he forms a connection with someone, he’ll do everything to keep it.

 

“Okay,” she says slowly, trying to coax him into actually answering the question: “and how long will that be?”

 

Finally, Alec turns to look at her, and his eyes and his smile are soft when he does eventually give a response. “I dunno. A while,” he repeats.

 

And this time when he says it, Izzy takes it as something a lot less flippant. Never before has such a vague phrase sounded so promising.

 

Her own immediate concerns dealt with, she desperately wants to broach the topic of Magnus even if it is too soon. She opens her mouth to do so when Simon drums his fingers on the steering wheel to catch her attention. His calm gaze meets hers, and as if he’s sensed her intent, shakes his head once in a universal sign for ‘not now’. She holds the look between them for a moment, considering challenging his decision before ultimately conceding to his point. If her hopeless motor-mouth of a boyfriend is telling her it’s not the right time, then he’s probably right. The natural curiosity within her wants so badly to be satisfied, but Alec’s had a crazy couple of weeks and he just looks so _tired._ It can wait, since he’s apparently not going anywhere anytime soon.

 

* * * * * *

 

Magnus thinks he’s handled losing Alec - giving him away? - pretty well over the past few years. It had been hard at first, sure. One might even go so far as to say excruciating, if they had the proclivity for the dramatic. He’d missed him terribly, and it had been impossible to rid his chest of the ache that had settled there the day they’d parted ways; especially when almost everything he saw reminded him of the man. He’d walk past the coffee shop near the studio they used to take breaks in during a long day of fittings, or he’d wear a shirt and remember the admiring gaze it had earned from Alec the first time he saw him in it. Eventually though, it got easier. It’s funny how if you allow yourself a true mourning period where you face the hurt head on and let yourself wallow in all your feelings for a little while, you learn to move on and let them go (at least somewhat). Sometimes he can even go a couple of days without thinking about Alexander at all.

 

One thing that never fails to trip him up however - one thing that _never_ gets easier - is knowing that Alec is in the same city as him.

 

Simon, of all people, had been the one to text him the news this time around. Magnus tends to avoid reading texts from Isabelle’s boyfriend since they are usually either utterly inane comments or something horrendously excitable, so it’s a wonder he’d read it at all. He almost wishes he hadn’t.

 

Will he bump into him on the street? Will he get a text saying the other wants to meet up with him? Does Alec torture himself by revisiting all the spots they used to hang out in together like Magnus does? Should he avoid them, or are they the safest places to hide? Whenever Alec is in town, Magnus finds himself constantly on edge, and the pain that he can sometimes ignore completely comes back, keener for knowing that the other is (for all intents and purposes) close by. The distance made things so much easier because it at least made the idea of a confrontation impossible. Having Alec so close that they _could_ meet up if they wanted to reminds Magnus that he did this to himself, and continues to do it to himself every day he doesn’t bridge the gap. And that’s hard. Magnus has his issues, sure, but he does want to be happy. He can rationalise all he wants, but the fact remains the same. He’s the reason for the physical and metaphorical distance between them. He has no one else to blame but himself..

 

Usually, when faced with this situation he has work to throw himself into. He’s been blessed with opportunities to turn his career into a successful one thus far, and _Magnus Bane_ being a relatively small cult brand as it is means he always has something to work on and keep him busy. With Milan Fashion Week coming to an end, they’re in the manic last straight with two weeks to go until the New York installment - Magnus has a hectic time ahead of him, completing the final touches and making last minute adjustments not only to the garments themselves but the plans as a whole: he’s not so naive to think that everything can be completed to his exact original specifications, as lovely as that would be.

 

Unfortunately, for the first time in four years his work and Alec Lightwood are once again woven together. It’s hard to drown himself in work to hide when the very thing he’s seeking a distraction from in the first place is now directly involved in it.

 

The reunion with Alec is inevitable.

 

Even worse, it’s _imminent._ The fittings for the models are scheduled for the next couple of days. It’s down to the wire, schedule-wise, but that’s nature of the beast - this way, the models are able to work at least one other Fashion Week before New York _and_ Magnus and his team have time to make any adjustments after seeing the models try on the looks in their current condition to ensure they look exactly as they should on the runway.

 

But still. That means that within the next forty-eight hours the four year stalemate between him and Alec Lightwood will come to an end. Magnus doesn’t think he’s ready.

 

These are the thoughts that plague him as he sits in the corner of the room, far removed from all the other seamstresses and assistants working at full throttle ahead of the fittings. There’s a black chiffon shirt on the mannequin in front of him, and he’s fiddling with an embroidered cuff that’s been difficult throughout the whole creation process. It’s hard to concentrate though - the presence of Alec’s casting polaroid among those of all of the other models on the wall behind him seems even more oppressive with the meeting that’s looming on the horizon.

 

He’s brandishing a needle with irrational determination, hunched over the damned cuff as he adds to the stitching there, when a hand descends to rest on his shoulder.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Magnus hadn’t even realised Catarina was in the studio. He looks up at her, keeping up his bemused look even after he realises he probably looks a bit demented. It’s better to play dumb in these situations.

 

Catarina isn’t having it, though. “Honey, you’re listening to Bauhaus” she says gently, pointing a finger at where Magnus’ phone is docked, playing the band’s Best Of, audible in his corner but soft enough that it doesn’t disturb the radio and chatter of the seamstresses’ elsewhere in the room. Catarina rarely takes a soft approach with him unless she thinks he really needs it.

 

Oh. He hadn’t even done it consciously. It’s a well-known fact in his inner circle (so, among four people) that he usually only resorts to Bauhaus when he’s: a) stressed out; b) working through a problem; or c) overly emotional. Magnus spends a pointless second trying to figure out which one it is this time before he just admits to himself that it’s basically all three at once.

 

“I’m fine,” he says with a forced smile and chuckle to match. “Bauhaus aren’t just a good band, they’re an _institution_. I’m allowed to enjoy art and not be giving bystanders a window into my psyche. Honestly Catarina, you’re reading far too much into this.”

 

She gives him a silent, pitying look, before she brushes his hair back. She’s exceedingly gentle with the gesture, just as much to protect the styling of his hair as to show affection because she knows Magnus’ priorities. Her other hand has been holding a folder, and she sets it down on a cleared section of the desk beside him.

 

It’s the schedule for the model fittings, he doesn’t even need to ask to know.

 

Sometimes Magnus hates how his friends know him far too well.

  


* * *

 

The next morning sees Magnus rocking into the studio bright and early, the albeit with the worst gin hangover he’s experienced to date.  It’s a fickle liquor, he thinks as he pushes the door open, not yet deigning to remove his Versace sunglasses. Drinking gin-based drinks is like playing a game of hangover roulette - sometimes you escape it completely and sometimes the bullet strikes you right through the brain (or at least it feels that way). The morning sun outside had been too bright for him and the fluorescent lights in the building are brighter still, and he’ll need the throbbing in his head to at least dull a little before he attempts to remove his shades.

 

He had never assumed he’d be the first there: if he’s always the last to leave, then Catarina is always the first to arrive, at least if she’s working in-house. She has a desk in the office raised above the studio, accessible by white metal stairs in the corner of the room and featuring a wall of windows that look down into the work pit. Magnus does too, though most of the time he’s down here in the workroom amongst his vibrant and talented staff, designing and creating. He absolutely loathes paperwork and admin, which is precisely why he lets his friends handle all that dull business. Today though, Catarina is sitting in a teal armchair in the large, airy lobby before the studio, where guests and customers usually sit and wait before they preview a collection or have a personal fitting for an event. With her in it, the chair might as well be a throne. “That’s my favorite chair” he says with a put-upon sigh, flopping ungracefully into its purple counterpart, kicking up his legs onto the stark white coffee table angled close by. There’s a rather large succulent by his boots that Magnus has honestly never noticed before, and he finds his mind drifting off into wondering whether or not those are still fashionable decorations to have. At least they’re low maintenance - not too long ago he’d insisted on having an orchid in the same spot, until he’d realised that no one (including himself) could really be bothered to care for it. He supposes that explains the cactus.

 

“I’m the one who picked it out,” she responds, raising an imperious brow before switching which leg is crossed over the other, as if that means she owns it. Magnus curses her for being so elegant and so… not hung-over. “Drinking alone to cope with your anxiety Magnus? How unlike you.”

 

All he can do is cross his arms and snort loudly in response because she’s just being facetious now.

 

“I expect that kind of attitude from Ragnor, not from you my dear. ...Where is the grumpy old bugger anyway?”

 

As if on cue, there are steps up the stairs leading from the building’s entrance and an imperious British accent declares: “speak of the devil and he shall appear. And if you do not see him - turn around.” Ragnor rounds the chair bearing gifts in the form of two bags from the deli a couple of blocks away, lifting a shoe to kick at Magnus’ feet until he’s forced to pull them off the coffee table with a groan. It’s painful, because Ragnor is wearing his most beloved pair of winklepickers, which should really be considered artefacts more than shoes by this point they’re so old, and those things are quite effective as weapons. “I would scold you for talking about me behind my back, but even if your choice of words weren’t a term of endearment they would still be totally true,” he says with a smirk, pushing aside the potted plant and sitting down on the table himself so he can face them. “Also, we do so need a third chair here if I’m not to feel completely excluded.”

 

“You wanted a moss-green one,” Catarina interrupts, taking one bag and pulling the cup holder bearing their coffees out of it. “When me and Magnus compromised with suggesting the orange one you threw a fit and said-”

 

“‘I will _not_ be seen in a bloody crushed velvet orange _monstrosity,_ ’” Magnus finishes with the most mocking, snobby British accent he can conjure up, taking the coffee Catarina hands him. Over the years he’s gotten rather good at imitating his friend, though this particular talent rarely garners any praise. “I rather liked that chair, myself.”

 

Ragnor takes his own coffee but otherwise doesn’t dignify them with a response, tipping his nose in the air as he rifles through the larger bag holding their food, emptying it of its contents. Some moments pass in quiet as the food is distributed and they begin to eat, before the eldest finally ends the lull in conversation.

 

“As charming as it is to be lovingly ribbed by my two best friends and platonic life companions,” Ragnor begins, cutting through his salmon bagel, “are we ever going to begin our conference-slash-pep-talk about today? I assume that is on the agenda.”

 

Magnus would really rather not just yet, still feeling rather tender and thus foregoing even looking at his food until he’s finished at least half of his large coffee, setting the box given to him aside. Unfortunately for him, both friends are looking at him expectantly. He rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses. “What _ever_ do you mean, dear Ragnor?” he asks, putting on airs. “It’s day one of the model fittings before the show, fairly standard procedure for our line of business.”

 

It’s Catarina that shuts down that line of reaction, barely looking up as she picks through her breakfast that seems almost entirely overrun by a mixture of berries. She’s always had a fondness for shutting down bullshit, and usually Magnus appreciates it, but not quite right now. “That would be the case, if Alec weren’t in the lineup this time. And he’s coming today. Or did you not read the schedule I gave you?”

 

He hadn’t because he’d been entirely too afraid of that, hoping he’d have at least another day to worry about it but not daring to check in case it wasn’t so. Of course, in the end not knowing had made things that much worse, hence the poor-decision making resulting in him being hungover on one of the most chaotic days pre-show. Magnus ignores the flutter in his stomach and brings his legs up, sitting cross-legged in the wide and squashy seat, thinking hard about zen gardens and the sounds of the ocean and other relaxing things. He drums painted nails along the side of his cardboard cup, his rings glinting in the light. “It doesn’t change anything,” he says finally, flicking his sunglasses up atop his head so they can _see_ his conviction, giving Ragnor a pointed look when the man raises a brow at him. “Really,” is his soft insistence, looking to Catarina for support and instead finding a flat, disbelieving expression. “Whether he’s here or not, this is work. My life’s work, as a matter of fact. I came here intending to do my job, just like every other day. The same, I’m sure, goes for him.” Magnus prides himself on the strength and name of his brand, and not even… Some _boy_ from his past he was utterly enamored with is going to change that. Despite assumptions made about him by outsiders, he has always been professional and serious at work.

 

Well, apart from the time he fell in love with the hapless model that became the face of his entire collection. That was a shaky period where his commitment to professionalism is concerned.

 

Somehow it feels like his friends aren’t buying it. “Look, it’s not like we didn’t part on good terms. We may not have talked all this time -” mostly his fault, probably “- but he was and always will be a dear friend. So, unless he’s come back to sabotage my show and my reputation, which I _highly_ doubt, then we’ll probably have an amicable if not awkward reunion and then we’ll get on with the fitting. Before we know it, it’ll all be over and life can resume as normal.”

 

After all, fitting days were incredibly busy for Magnus. Although he had the utmost trust in his staff, this brand was his baby and he did have a tendency to somewhat micromanage during times such as these. He’d be working through his own allocation of models and then flitting between the rest to check up on them. Following that, adjustments to the garments and accessories and styling would have to be made. He’d already spent the last couple of weeks obsessively matching looks to models and then rearranging them again and again, not to even mention the deliberation over which _order_ they’d be shown in. In his own bag sat the folder that contained his final decisions, though Catarina and Ragnor already knew what they were. Before heading home to drink himself to oblivion the night before, he’d moved the casting polaroids from the wall and pinned them to the corresponding looks on the garment rails in the center of the fitting room to solidify his choices. His two friends had then walked the racks with him, and the three of them had confirmed the selections together as always. It was a tried and tested method for Magnus to alleviate his biggest pre-showing anxieties: he was able to organise and justify his thinking by explaining them to his friends, get their approval to prove it wasn’t all a bad idea, and stopped him from making any impulsive last minute decisions that could potentially screw everything up.

 

“People are going to look at that damn coat and complain that this is supposed to be a spring/summer collection.” It’s perhaps the hundredth time Ragnor has made that comment, setting down his now empty box and switching it for his coffee. Within every single collection Magnus has ever created, Ragnor has picked a garment to take particular offence with. It’s been years and Magnus still can never tell if he _really_ hates each piece - suspiciously, or hilariously if Ragnor really _does_ despise them, they’re usually exactly the same item that ends up as the sort of defining piece of each show and collection.

 

Magnus scoffs. “Seasonal rules are boring,” he says, smiling a little when one side of Ragnor’s mouth curls up into something fondly amused. It’s a mantra he goes by - while some fashion rules and pairings are sacred, Magnus didn’t get where he is today by playing it safe. “God forbid I succumb to _florals for Spring_. Besides, there’s more than one coat or jacket in this collection. I just pick what looks good together, stop nitpicking. Though I am surprised neither of you has commented on my decision for his outfit besides the fact it’s apparently not season-appropriate.”

 

It had been a no-brainer, really. Since everything had been designed with a vague image of Alec in mind, it might be expected that picking what designs the model would wear would be a difficult process. But this time around one look had always stuck out from the rest, and once Magnus had learned Alec would be walking for him again, the designer had defaulted to what he’d done the last time and given the best one to him. The main feature was the aforementioned coat - an oversized piece with black, crimped faux-fur, designed to swamp the form of and yet exaggerate the masculinity of the wearer. It would be matched with a light, loose long-sleeve, in a knit thin enough to show the impression of skin beneath to both soften and blur the virility of the coat and yet also showcase the masculine form beneath, tucked into a pair of black pants that looked almost tactical in nature. Accessorising the look is still something on Magnus’ mind, warring as he always is with the ageless edict of ‘less is more’ and his own personal philosophy of ‘ _more_ is more’.

 

“As you love to remind us,” Catarina begins, picking up her coffee and rolling her eyes, “ _you’re_ the boss here.”

 

Magnus just sends her a look because it’s not as if that’s ever stopped them before.

 

Ragnor is a lot less reserved, as usual. “Well, even if I personally consider the coat somewhat of an abomination, mostly in that it’s clearly an endeavour to materialize your own fantasy of some kind of wild, moody warrior man,” - Magnus can’t deny that, pulling a face and shrugging in concession, to which Catarina smirks - “I daresay that Alec is a handsome young man that can pull most anything off, including this.”

 

“What I believe Ragnor is trying to say, underneath his usual… pomp,” Catarina reveals, the curl of her smirk not completely hidden by the coffee cup held in front of her mouth, “is that he’s going to look gorgeous.”

 

Magnus agrees wholeheartedly. Alec is going to look absolutely divine in the outfit. It’s going to be terrible.

  


Breakfast done with and hangover (thankfully) muted by the divine gifts of coffee, breakfast and aspirin, the morning moves on. Things get busy quickly, with his team arriving and bringing with them the energy and buzz of fittings day. Magnus revels in it, helping to pull racks over to stations and making sure everything is in order for the seamstresses and assistants, laughing and joking with them all and overseeing the chaos.

 

Fitting days are at once awful and brilliant. Awful in the sense they’re inherently stressful as the first days the cast models collide with the pieces Magnus and his team have been working on for months, which naturally leads to things not working or looking the way he’d imagined and of course, the need for a _lot_ of adjustments. Two models can have very similar measurements and yet wear a garment or look in two completely different ways - this is the magic of fashion, of clothes and human beings, and Magnus _does_ find it fascinating, but it’s also irrevocably a massive pain in the arse. But it’s also brilliant, because it’s here that the garments start to come to life, where they cease being just some fabric and embellishments on a mannequin and instead become a piece of _clothing_ ; a vehicle of self-expression; wearable _art_.

 

Typically Magnus assigns himself to do the fittings for pieces that he foresees might cause him trouble as well as the ones he considers important within the collection. It’s not that he doesn’t trust his team - many of these people have been making clothes longer than he has, and some of them are much better at it, but _Magnus Bane_ is not such a big brand that Magnus isn’t directly involved and immensely invested in every single collection. He’s a perfectionist, and while this causes plenty stress (some of it likely unnecessary) he also considers it one of the main reasons for his success. This means Magnus always handles the looks that open and close the show. Unfortunately for him, “that damn coat” as Ragnor calls it is closing the show, which means he’s handling Alec’s fitting today. Magnus doesn’t think he’d ever be able to have Alec walk in his show and _not_ hold that most important position - on the basest level it’s disingenuous to his artistic vision; if he’s being more honest with himself, he doesn’t think his heart would ever allow him to hold anyone in higher esteem than he holds Alec. Alexander is just _it_ for him. It would be pointless for anyone to come after him because he is without a doubt the absolute highlight.

 

The MB atelier is more lively than it has been in weeks if not months - lately, with the crunch to get the collection as close to done as it can be before fittings, the communal workroom has featured heads bowed over sewing machines and shoulders hunched over work desks, with not much conversation held over the buzz of the machines or the low, unintrusive hum of the radio. Today it’s a hub of activity. Various assistants co-ordinate the day’s activity - greeting models as they arrive for their booked fitting session (a pain-staking amount of organising going in to that considering most of them have numerous other jobs this coming Fashion Week which means other commitments in the lead up to it), confirming details and paperwork and showing them to their assigned fitters, as well as running around doing errands for anyone who needs them. Magnus’ team of fitters run through the garments with the models, commenting on their fit and scribbling down notes and sticking pins into fabric, taking pictures or occasionally shouting over to Magnus if they need confirmation on something. The models walk through the space, mostly bare-foot and in different variations of half-dressed, laughing and joking with assistants and fitters alike once they realise just how relaxed the studio atmosphere is.

 

It’s rather heart-warming actually, and Magnus enjoys it as much as he can with the 1:15pm time slot looming at the back of his mind, ominous like the echo of a death knell or something else equally as dramatic. He puts on a brave face - he’s rather good at that - and forges through his own workload until the time comes, unavoidable and momentous.

 

Alec is standing in front of him and rationally Magnus knows all the noise and chaos of the room doesn’t actually stop, but it still _feels_ like the world freezes when he notices him there. Alec smiles at him with teeth, standing/hovering at the edge of Magnus’ work bubble in the way he always had, hands behind his back, and it feels like the air has been knocked out of his lungs at the familiarity of that stance, like he’s been plucked out of the now and placed back into that happy, sweet time of his life where he was Alec’s and Alec was _his._ And yet, there’s no possible way this could ever be _back then_ , because whilst he hasn’t changed all that much or even looks that much older, Alec _is_ different. Somehow he feels _fuller_ , like he owns the space around himself a little more - his posture is the same, but it’s more relaxed than it ever was. His shoulders aren’t set and held in a rigid line; his almost-militaristic way of standing isn’t so conscious or forced like he’s steeling himself anymore - immediately Magnus knows that he isn’t embarrassed to be here, or reserved like he used to be. Even after he adjusted to his role in Magnus’ collection the first time, there was still apart of him that didn’t seem to _fit_ into the role of model, but that’s clearly not the case now. His hazel eyes don’t hesitate to meet Magnus’, not even for a split-second, and they sparkle under the harsh fluorescent light, the skin at the outer corners crinkling in happiness in a way they never used to. It’s devastatingly handsome.

 

After a long moment, Alec rocks on the balls of his feet minutely and offers a simple - “Hi.”

 

His voice is simultaneously exactly as Magnus remembers and a completely new sound. He sounds a little hesitant, a little awkward, a little soft, and Magnus’ heart flutters because that - _that_ is so familiar.

 

It should be nothing - _‘hi’_ \- the most simple, discardable greeting ever, and yet… Despite everything that happened between them; their abrupt ending and the long, sore stretch of years between their last meeting and this one, Alec has extended the olive branch. There’s no hostility or negativity coming from him in that simple word nor the way he stands before Magnus, and Magnus realises that his reply will be his first response to Alec about _everything_ to do with the last four years. It’s down to him to set the tone, to show there’s no hard feelings and that - even though it’s glaringly obvious to _him_ and always has been - Alec is welcome here. Alec will _always_ be welcome here.

 

Magnus had been afraid, so very afraid, to meet Alec again. Of how hard it would be. And yet it takes no effort at all to give the other a genuine smile. There’s no malice, no anger and no pain - the faint hurt he’s grown accustomed to since their parting will always linger in a soft ache, but he doesn’t blame nor resent Alec for it. It is what it is.

 

“Alexander,” he says through his smile in response, tipping his head in greeting. It’s fond, welcoming and yes, perhaps just a little bit breathless. It feels good on his lips - he’s barely uttered the name out loud in the cavernous gap of years between them, and to say it to the man himself feels like healing. Despite his earlier observations, it seems there must have been some tension subtly lacing Alec’s frame, because at Magnus’ utterance it dissolves completely. Magnus lets himself continue: “It’s been a while. Life has treated you well.” It’s not just referring to how good Alec looks - though anyone would expect Magnus to comment on that - but also an acknowledgement of Alec’s success in his work, and maybe a subtle admission that he’s been keeping tabs on him. “You seem different, just a little. In a good way.”

 

It’s not completely easy, of course. The years of silence, unspoken words and purposely-cut connections weighs down on them both but maybe, just maybe, Magnus can push it aside for now and just take this as it is. Allow himself be happy and keep things simple, to feel things through without overthinking or over-complicating things.

 

“You’re exactly the same,” Alec says, and Magnus could be mistaken, but he thinks he detects something akin to reverence in those precious few words. He isn’t sure whether to preen or to be self-conscious in his sarouel pants and his oversized printed shirt, so instead he focuses more on analyzing Alec, fascinated by him as always. Already, he can feel the difference in the way Alec communicates with him - before, he was meek, almost disbelieving of Magnus’ attention; friendship; affection. Now he talks and meets Magnus’ eye without hesitation or timidity. The shy, reserved Alexander is gone - if not completely, then at least enough to give an entirely different impression of his character. Magnus doesn’t think it’s wrong to say the Alec he had known had still been a boy rather than a man, despite being a graduate and legal adult. That’s different now.

 

The Alexander that stands in front of Magnus today is a man. It’s something undeniable, visible in the way he carries himself.

 

He’d always been mature, but before something about that aspect of his personality felt like a slightly ill-fitted suit - it did the job in creating a certain image, yet didn’t particularly mould to him. Now it feels natural, and earned. There’s a calm, reliable aura to the man that hadn’t been there before - or maybe Magnus is just reading far too much into this, looking for the profound in the mundane.

 

Magnus doesn’t know what to say in reply to the compliment (he assumes that’s what it was, since Alec seemed fond of him before), so he defaults to his charismatic defense. “Forty is slowly but surely coming for me,” he laments with a morose wave of his arm, as if it’s a death sentence.

 

Alec glances to the side for a moment - he’d always had the habit of checking if there were other people around that could listen in on what he’s saying, a symptom of his somewhat-reserved nature - before his eyes snap back to Magnus’. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me again, nevermind have me model for you.”

 

And this is one of the few things Magnus might have forgotten about Alec. For all he might prefer to avoid some problems, he’s not very good at it. In fact, he’s practically always been hopelessly direct, blunt as he tackles issues head on. He’d mentioned to Magnus once that in his teens and college years he’d spent a lot of time keeping quiet to please his parents, refusing to acknowledge some harsh truths about both himself and his family. The whole time Magnus had known him he was confronting that part of himself, choosing the direct approach in a conscious effort to eschew any self-sabotaging attempts at repression and wilful ignorance. It seems it’s working out for him, though Magnus can’t in good faith claim he’s totally happy about it when he’s only just convinced himself to let it go for now. It’s also like a stab to the heart that Alec could ever think he’s unwanted.

 

Still, Alec continues.

 

“Maybe it was selfish to come to the casting-- maybe I should have contacted you first. But it felt weird to, after so long.” He sighs a little and puts his hands on his hips, observes the rest of the room and the people bustling around them. “Though I guess walking into a casting unannounced after so long is weird too, huh?”

 

Magnus smiles hesitantly - he can feel it quiver a little on his lips - not wanting to really address this but having no other option now Alec has thrown them into it. “I told you that you will always be welcome here,” is what he settles with, soft, not wanting to refer too explicitly to any time they spend together for both their sakes. He hesitates for a beat, hands fluttering at his sides, and then just goes for it. He’s an adult. He _can_ talk about this. “We didn’t part on bad terms. I just gave you the opportunity and wanted to give you a clean break so you could take full advantage of it. You deserved that.”

 

Alec nods, eyes finding Magnus’ again and the shared gaze ensnares them both the way it always did, leaving each of them unable to look away, such is the magnetism of the connection.

 

“I wanted to thank you for convincing me to go for it.” Alec says, hands dropping from his hips to hang limp at his sides for a moment, before he holds them behind his back again. “It was... hard, but I quickly understood that it was what I needed. Time to be me; to know and rely on myself and be a little selfish for a while.” He takes a step forward, not even realising he’s doing it from the looks of things, and yet even with the movement there’s still too much polite difference between them. Magnus aches. To anyone else, this probably looks like a casual conversation between old acquaintances, the emotional magnitude of the exchange a secret kept between the two of them. “I realised that was what you wanted for me, and eventually I realised I also wanted it for myself. I think it’ll always be a process, but… I think I’ve found that, or am finding it.” He smiles, small and soft, and his gaze is full of conviction. “It was the right thing to do.” He says it like he’s relieved. Like he’s justifying all of it for the both of them. “At this point, I can’t imagine not doing it.”

 

And though he has always wanted Alec to understand the gift he had given him by letting him go, it hurts, really truly _hurts_ to hear that because Alec has just confirmed that them breaking up and being apart was the right thing to do even though it hurt them both. Even though it hurts Magnus still.

 

Finally, inevitably, Magnus’ heart breaks all over again.

 

The small mercy is that by this point it’s happened to him so many times that he is able to keep it to himself.

 

Still, he’s feeling a little sucker-punched by it. Looking at Alec, he realises the other is waiting for some kind of response. With what feels like a herculean effort he manages to force himself to smile, though it feels heavy and fake on his face. “I’m glad,” he says, even though it feels like an awful lie. Then he’s clapping his hands, forcing himself back to action and turning to the rack. “I really am. But unfortunately I’m on a tight schedule and we _are_ here for a reason, so let’s get down to business. Let me show you your look for the show.”

 

Alec moves closer to it too, spots the coat and sends Magnus a _look_ , and oh, if it isn’t the sweetest feeling to be on the end of that look again. Magnus heart skips a bit and his cheeks twitch with the want to smile. It’s awful to snap between so many emotions - he feels unmoored, at the mercy of a storm with no bearings to keep him together, unsure if his own will is enough to do the job.

 

“A fur coat?” Alec asks, sounding at once exasperated and fond.

 

It feels so casual and easy and it’s horrific, but Magnus clings to it like a lifeline, pulling on the armor of his usual flair once more.

 

Magnus holds up a finger. “Yes - for spring/summer, it’s a crime, blah blah blah I know. However, you of all people should know to just go along with my decisions. They are, after all, _always_ good ones.” He’d meant fashion-wise, but that hits a little too close to home considering the conversation they’d just had, doesn’t it? “Anyway - the coat should be fine since it’s oversized, but we will check it eventually.” Beyond that there’s the knit - he had checked it against Alec’s given measurements, but he does want to make sure it’s alright since he’s learnt by now that the paper never quite matches up to the physical. The pants are what he’s most concerned about.

 

“You’re a lot more built than you used to be,” Magnus says as he appraises Alec from head to toe with a critical, professional eye, purposely staying away from anything suggestive or flirty like he might have done once upon a time. The world of fashion isn’t very forgiving even for male models - not on either end of the scale: you must either be a muscled Adonis or thin and gaunt. Magnus is just glad that Alec doesn’t look _unhealthy_ like some models do. It makes him feel less guilty about pulling him into this world.

 

“Go on, go try them on and we’ll work from there.”

 

And maybe it’s something like ripping the band aid off, because even though there’s a muted sting of pain lingering from Alec’s confession, with it out in the open Magnus can now stop dreading it. Yes, it stays in his thoughts, but they are here to complete a task, and the clothes and the familiarity of the fitting process dominate his attention for the rest of their slot, and soon Alec is back in his own clothes and leaving. Magnus won’t have to see him again until the day of the show - there’ll be another fitting between now and then, but that will be delegated to someone on his team since he will be far too preoccupied with the staging by then. It won’t at all be simple avoidance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we deserve the alec growth arc in every universe  
>  ~~does all this even make sense?~~
> 
> also does the formatting bother anyone/are the spaces between paragraphs too big? i can't decide
> 
> yell at me for being a dumb-dumb on [tumblr](https://disc0veries.tumblr.com/)  
> alternatively you can ask me stuff, tell me stuff, or talk to me about anything  
> i'm a new human these days and i'd like to make friends and have conversations


	5. these words lie inside they hurt me so

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Magnus and Alec must reconcile with the time and distance that had separated them for so long, and have to try to learn what it's like to be friends all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The planets must be aligned lately or something because writing is coming easier, which means I can go back to (semi-) regular posting as I get more and more of this fic locked down! Which is good news because we're back in a world without new weekly episodes! wah!
> 
> The title of this chapter is taken from [this!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ahU-x-4Gxw!) I don't know why I gave Magnus the music taste I did but I think it really fits him!
> 
> I'd like to thank anyone who has stuck with me so far, and to those just finding this fic with the update! Every kudos, comment and subscription makes me want to make the fic the best it can be. I know it's tough sometimes to follow a WIP but it honestly means sososo much when you guys reach out and support! I love you all.
> 
> As always, I hope you are happy and healthy and that you enjoy this latest installment!

* * *

 

Even if one disregarded the mild emotional trauma suffered by seeing Alec again, the two fitting days had been as exhausting as Magnus had predicted. He spends the following day reworking accessories and garment pairings that had been flagged up during that time since the presentation of the collection is entirely his jurisdiction, and while comparing photos and swapping elements from different outfits doesn’t sound so difficult, it is rather stressful. There’s no such thing as a single (nor a simple) change in a Fashion Week collection - the ripple effect is always in full force. While the added work distracts him from thinking too much about Alec for a little longer, it also just adds to his exhaustion.

 

Unfortunately, it’s just the way things are that he can’t even take one day off right now to try and recover. There’s far too much to be done, and Fashion Week waits for no man - no matter how fabulous said man might be. Foreseeing no major disaster with the models or the actual collection itself now the immediate issues have been dealt with, it’s time for Magnus to delegate to his studio team and focus himself on the next big headache: the _venue._ Whilst he’s been fretting over clothes and reuniting with his ex, the initial clearing and setup has been done, and not for the first time Magnus thanks the universe that he’s been around long enough by now to make solid connections with people he trusts to get work done. When people think of the fashion world they don’t think much further beyond designers, seamstresses and models, but really it’s so much more than that. You need co-ordinators to make the already ridiculously tight pre-Week schedule work; contractors who can literally build your vision of the show set to make it come to life; hair and makeup artists to make your models and clothes look outstanding. There are so many elements to this crazy, tragic, beautiful business that most of the time even Magnus has trouble following along - thank the gods that there’s more than three pairs of hands propping up the name _Magnus Bane._

 

Truth be told, Magnus hasn’t been to the old, empty church he’d managed to convince the city to let him rent for the show since he did the final walkthrough with the contractors and confirmed the setup plans over a week ago. The main space is huge, long since clear of leftover junk, dust sheets and trash from trespassers. According to the setup schedule, by now the runway should be up, the material to build the seating delivered and almost completed, and the backstage area separated from the main space and cleared ready for the makeup and hair teams to setup their stations. It’s a lot to coordinate without Magnus there, which is why he has Elias. For all his earlier pondering on the important threads that weave the fabric of a good fashion show, he skipped over the most critical: assistants are the lifeblood that keep the fashion world running, and Elias is one of the best. Snappy and serious, he’s a pretty good foil for Magnus - he’s a stickler for efficiency and doing things right, which makes him a complete lifesaver for the designer, who likes to avoid the nitty-gritty when he can get away with it outside of Fashion Week mania. Elias been overseeing the venue since they got their hands on it, regularly emailing Magnus updates all the while, so he knows they’re on schedule. Magnus can never relinquish control for long though, so today he’s making his presence known and checking everything himself so he can be _sure_ everything is going okay.

 

But first, coffee.

 

Java Jones is one of the coffee shops in New York that Magnus doesn’t despise on principle, and it has the added benefit of being situated somewhere vaguely between his studio and the venue, so this way he can break up the dreaded subway ride into two (he’s not much of a fan of enclosed, underground spaces) by stopping by here for a dose of caffeine. It’s one of those modern bohemian places, in a squat, old ramshackle building squeezed by two modern glass structures on either side. The clientele are mostly young students and hipster-types, intent on supporting local businesses and buying organic, fancying themselves as artists or modern poets. Magnus doesn’t mind them - they’re young and harmless, and remind him of the optimism and false sense of grandeur of his own youth, when he and his friends were students and starving yet half-convinced they really could be sustained on their art alone. Pretentious undoubtedly, but Magnus would far rather be surrounded by them than the New York elite who like things fast and soulless and have no qualms overpaying dearly for some ‘exotic’ blend of coffee that tastes just like the regular stuff.

 

Thinking about the optimism of youth, this is actually one of those near-sacred places Magnus can’t help but associate with Alexander. It was actually through he and Izzy that Magnus discovered the place, since they’d apparently been something close to regulars since Alec started attending college. Magnus had met Alec here more than a few times since he’d made the boy’s acquaintance, and they’d waste long hours talking over hot drinks almost whenever they got the chance. A couple of years later it was where Izzy met Simon, when the bespectacled young man would play a couple of acoustic originals at an open mic night and then clumsily (and apparently charmingly) make a pass at Izzy that actually worked. Magnus is smiling at the thought as he pushes the door to the coffee shop open, gliding through doorway and letting it sweep back into its frame unhindered.

 

It’s between the morning rush and lunchtime, but there are still a few people queueing ahead of him. He waits patiently (or maybe not so patiently if the slight tapping of his foot is anything to judge on) for his turn to order, sweeping his eyes over the familiarly-embellished chalkboard menus above and then back down to the person at the front of the queue. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear, Ragnor had said just a few days ago. Or in this case, even just think of him.

 

Magnus would know him _anywhere_. Any place, any time, any life.

 

Alec stands at the register, unconsciously aware of his towering height as he always had been in small spaces, shoulders hunched over slightly as he gives his order to the much shorter, eternally bored-looking barista. He’s dressed casually in a black utility jacket and equally dark pants, thick hair in an artful mess. Magnus’ heart swells and then constricts painfully at the sight of him.

 

Of course now that they’ve… cleared the air between them(?), Alec is going to start showing up in the places Magnus had always fretted about bumping into him at before. Of _course_ the universe would choose now to cosmically align to bring them together, when Magnus had only just convinced himself that the next time he would see him wouldn’t be until the day of the show, when the whole thing would be over in the blink of an eye and they could go back to their infuriatingly separate lives once more. Is this going to be a regular occurence now, some force throwing them together in awkward and painful reunions? He’s not sure his heart can take it, honestly.

 

As if sensing someone’s gaze Alec glances back, only to immediately do a double-take when his gaze lands on Magnus. The designer is trying to decide what to do - pretend not to see him? wave? - when Alec suddenly smiles at him, twisting the upper half of his body towards him. Just as it looks like he’s about to say something, the barista pulls him back into their transaction, prompting him to actually pay for his order. Watching him, Magnus can’t help but smile fondly at the way he apologises quickly and fumbles with his wallet, flustered, ears and neck pinking in embarrassment. So, an international fashion model but still endearingly awkward? Magnus can’t say he’d expected Alec to change much anyway, but it’s still a heart-warming sight all the same.

 

Transaction over, Alec shuffles over to the end of the counter where the to-go drinks are put when they’re ready. Magnus isn’t _watching_ him, not _really_ , but he can’t help but notice the way he lingers there even after his drink is dropped off, even as the couple of people between them order their drinks and food to be brought over to the table they choose. It’s obvious Alec’s waiting for him, and Magnus tries his best to remain cool as he orders his own drink, not letting his dread show. Far too quickly he’s done, with no other choice but to move over to join Alec at the pick-up counter. No-- It’ll be fine. They’re good. They’ve reunited, smoothed things over, and it was even somewhat healing. There’s no need to be so desperate to avoid him; Alec was probably only the love of his life - no, it’s fine. Good. _Great_ , even.

 

“You’re wearing your glasses today,” Alec comments after they’ve exchanged awkward smiles, rocking once on the balls of his feet.

 

Magnus raises a hand to the thick black frames, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious at the comment - probably because of who it’s coming from. Alec probably remembers that the glasses only come out when he’s got serious work to do, so the comment is a little more loaded than just an idle observation. It’s strange, this limbo between being awkward around each other but still knowing a lot about each other, too. Magnus isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to it. He doesn’t want it to be like this. He wants things to be good between them, even if it can’t be the same as before. Plus, he’s Magnus Bane. He prides himself on his ability to push through awkward situations.

 

“There’s a _lot_ of work to be done,” he says with a dramatic sigh, setting his hands on his hips. Talking is easy; god knows he does plenty of it. He’s got this. It doesn’t matter that Alec has moved on. “I’m in full on crunch-time crisis aversion mode.” One of the machines behind the counter hisses loudly as the barista starts making Magnus’ order, and Alec shuffles a step closer to hear him better over the noise.

 

“What’s on today’s agenda?” the younger asks. Alec had always been frightfully earnest for as long as Magnus had known him, always keen to engage with people or things he found interesting, not as bad at conversation as people might first assume. Magnus smiles. Alec _wants_ to talk to him, which is reassuring. He feels his shoulders relax a little.

 

“The venue,” is his answer, an exaggerated drawl that he hopes encapsulates his dread. “The runway is built, but I need to check in person that it’s exactly how I want it. The back of house needs to be coordinated, and the seating plan needs to be checked. Lighting needs to be set up - the fittings just came in yesterday, so we’ve got to figure out if our plans really give us the atmosphere we need. The flowers we ordered won’t come in until the night before, but honestly that is a whole issue I don’t even want to think about right now--” It’s a full on ramble now, Magnus gaining steam and actually enjoying unloading all of this finally when his cardboard cup is set down on the counter, a thick black ‘MAGNUS’ scrawled messily on the side, effectively cutting his rant off.

 

Alec had been nodding sympathetically throughout, and Magnus supposes he’s more likely to understand the behind-the-scenes pains a little better now he’s a part of this world professionally. Now though, he’s watching Magnus curl ringed fingers around his cup, probably just aware as the elder is that their reason for chatting is now gone, the tension of uncertainty settling in again. He shifts his weight, holding his cup awkwardly aloft, and Magnus is sure he’s trying to think of some way to make his goodbyes and flee the scene in the least maladroit way (and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t doing the same). It’s sad things have gotten to this point between them, but it is what it is.

 

“Um, I-” Alec begins, and Magnus is already nodding sympathetically, ready to assure him it’s fine and he should probably be off anyway-- “I don’t actually have any plans for today, so if you wanted, I could tag along? I mean, I probably won’t be much use and I don’t know a lot about setting up a show, but I can lend an ear if you need to rant at someone without jeopardising work morale…”

 

That’s - not what Magnus had expected him to say, at all. “Really?” he asks, hiding how flattered he is that Alec wants to hang out with him even after everything (while he works, no less) by pushing the corner of his glasses to slide them back into place higher up his nose. “You sure you don’t have anything better to do?”

 

Alec smiles, and it shouldn’t be so endearing when he shrugs his broad shoulders a little, but it _is._ Magnus _aches_ for him. “Yours is my only show. I have a vested interested in it all working out the way it should.” In the light of the coffee shop, his eyes are just as bright, just as beautiful, as Magnus remembers. “And I’d like to catch up with you. It really has been too long.” And it has. They’d both let their embargo on communication last for a ridiculous amount of time. The initial distance made sense so they both could heal, but neither of them had to deny the other nor themselves for as long as they had. Looking back now, it all seems so stupid. He thinks they both must carry that shame; that regret for letting a dear friend go for so long. “I know you must be super busy with stuff right now, and I didn’t want to take you away from it, so this seems like the perfect compromise.” Alec continues and then suddenly he’s smiling, boyish and charming. Magnus can’t help but immediately return it. Thoughts of ever denying him couldn’t be further from his mind.

 

“Why not?” he says in response, still smiling and trying to effect his usual effervescent manner as he turns on his heel to head for the door. “This way I won’t feel bad for wasting a money on a cab - we can split.”

  


The cab ride is mostly quiet, but still nice. In fact, if anything it’s more comfortable than their conversations have been. Words, with all their possible interpretations and disappointments and failings to accurately express thoughts and feelings, are what tend to do the most harm.  Without the pressure of a heavy heart-to-heart Magnus can sit with Alec close and just enjoy his presence again. He’d been so worried about what they’d say to each other that it’s nice to just be able to savour the fact they now occupy the same space again. And that’s exactly what they do - they sit side by side, each sipping their coffee and gazing out their windows with the driver’s favourite radio station filling the stretches between innocuous comments and observations.

 

Once they pull up in front of the church Magnus is renting for the show, Alec gapes.

 

“Whoa,” he says in wonder, slamming the taxi door shut and coming to join Magnus on the sidewalk so they can gaze up at the building together.

 

Magnus can’t help but preen a little at that, draining the last cooling dregs of his coffee and stepping forward to drop the cup into the wire trashcan just outside the building’s entrance. The church is a find he’s endlessly proud of. A hidden treasure in the city - of which there’s many - and basically the perfect event space, if one had the means to secure it from the city and clean it up a little. It’s a beautiful old building, still central enough that the travelling circus of celebrities and journalists can get to it in reasonable time from other shows elsewhere in the city beforehand. An ideal Fashion Week venue.

 

“It’s been on my radar a while,” he tells Alec, as the other trashes his empty cup and joins him to head up the steps. “But I was waiting for the right collection to match it - not to mention the time it took to negotiate renting it from the city. What they really want is a buyer willing to pay a very high price and obey some pretty tight specifications for its restoration and use, but…” If anyone is capable of sweet-talking whomever to get what he wants, it’s Magnus Bane. He flashes Alec a satisfied grin as they clear the doorway and then the connected entrance hall to get to the main space.

 

It’s chaos. They’re immediately dodging workmen as they travel to and fro with various materials and tools, the sounds of drilling and hammering and shouting echoing in the large, cavernous room. Magnus is glad to see that some of the lighting fixtures are already up and connected, illuminating the space along with temporary work lights still in use by the contractors. There’d been some issues with the generators that had kept Magnus up one night, Elias’ frantic texts feeding his general pre-show anxiety until he almost got out of bed and crossed the city in his damn pyjamas despite the fact no one would even be on site at one in the morning.

 

The already-erected runway dominates the room as it reaches out from the back wall to beyond the center of the space. It’s simple, just one long stretch of silver metal framing, encased by completely clear top and sides creating a striking, modern contrast to the original features of the church itself - the ceiling is high, and set into the wall are tall, arched stained-glass windows.  Since the show would require a number of installations being built inside the space they’d been forced to lay down temporary flooring over the old wooden boards, but now looking at the room at large, Magnus is happy with the stark white plastic panelling below his feet. With the white bleacher-style block benches on either side of the runway (only one of which is actually built), and the bright light fittings that still need to be completely installed, he thinks he’s going to get that mix of old and new, modern and archaic, that he’d first imagined when the collection began to come to life so long ago.

 

“This is really cool,” Alec says, a little wide-eyed as he takes in all the work going on around them. Whilst Magnus had been trying to imagine the finished product, the younger man had migrated towards the runway, his fingers tapping the strong, clear surface. “It’s easy to forget how much work goes into these things when you just have to show up on the day and show off the clothes.”

 

Magnus smiles. “I told you, didn’t I?” Alec turns back to look at him, a moment after his entire body turning to orientate itself to Magnus. “The day I asked you to model for me, I told you that the industry is much more than what people think.” Alec shrugs, lips slanting up to show he remembers and maybe, just maybe, that Magnus had been right.

 

Before either of them can say anything further though Magnus spots movement to their left, and he turns his head to spot Elias emerging from behind one of the panels that the models will appear from during the show, that connect the backstage area to the runway. “Speaking of the amount of work it takes,” Magnus says to Alec with a wink, trying to hold back his smile as Elias spots him.

 

The assistant has a look on his face like he’s determined to catch Magnus before he gets away - which to be fair is a move he’s known to pull during the majority of the year when he doesn’t have a huge show on his hands. But this is showing season, so Magnus just tries not to laugh as the man glances behind himself and then back to Magnus, as if trying to determine the fastest route to get to him. Apparently he decides to forgo grace, trying (and somewhat failing) to elegantly disembark the catwalk by stepping off the edge rather than heading back the way he came. It’s not a ridiculously high platform, but it’s enough for the distance to be unnatural. Still, Elias recovers from his clambering quickly, striding over to Magnus with his tablet tucked to his chest as always. He feels some dread at the sight of the damn thing, knowing what the other is like with his schedules and notes - but that’s also what he pays Elias for, and what makes him so damn good at his job.

 

“My dear Elias,” Magnus crows, with an emphatic clap of his hands. The man looks stressed, but he is a rather uptight fellow in general, so he won’t allow himself to worry too much yet.

 

“Finally, you’re here,” his assistant says with a sigh, a pinched expression on his handsome face as he brandishes the tablet, waking it from sleep and opening a complicated-looking document. There’s no time wasted for niceties, just straight to business. “So the power supply is finally looking stable - I’ve been promised we’ll have no more problems with it, though we do now have backups in place just in case. The light fittings…”

 

Elias continues on and Magnus _is_ interested, but he can’t help but let his eyes wander even as he listens. Alec is watching, trying to look casual as he half-perches on the edge of the catwalk a short distance from them, though he doesn’t bother to attempt to avert his eyes when he catches Magnus’ gaze. Illuminated by a mix of artificial bulbs and the natural light filtering through the church windows he looks absolute _arresting_ , all easy, masculine grace. Not for the first time since they met again Magnus observes how much better he fills his body and the space he inhabits. It’s something Magnus still can’t get over, but that’s by no means negative. Alexander smiles at him, soft and gentle, and he feels his lips pull up in easy response even as the world around them - Elias included - comes back into startling focus.

 

“...and that’s where we’re at,” is what Elias finishes his spiel with.

 

“That’s good,” Magnus says, tearing his eyes from Alec so he can quarter-turn back to face his assistant. “The updates from the florist are certainly reassuring. If they’re going to pre-arrange the bundles for us before delivery that’s less for us to worry about on this end. Just re-attach the sketches and reference photos in your next reply so we can be extra sure they know what we want.”

 

The inside of the room has been fitted with an almost-skeletal silver frame to be used as a rig for the sound and lighting. Above their heads the gleaming trusses form uniform grids, enhancing the neo-industrial vibes. From these frames it won’t just be lights, but also long bundles of wildflowers and dried herbs that will trail down, suspended over the models’ heads, introducing nature and a sense of otherworldliness into the otherwise sterile environment of the showspace. Magnus just hopes it will look as exquisite in real life as it does in his mind’s eye as he and Elias stare up towards the ceiling, both trying to picture the finished product.

 

“Like I said, the lighting should be fitted by the end of tomorrow. Obviously we’ll be covering the runway with a sheet to preserve the surface for the show, just incase the fitters need to be on there. Other than me just now, we haven’t had anyone on it.”

 

Magnus nods, eyes sweeping down the length of the runway before hitting on Alec, still lingering by the end. An idea in his head, he glances to the finished blocks of seating on the opposite side of the platform. “Those are finished and stable, yes?” he asks, lacquered nails glinting as he points to the benches. Elias, unsure where he’s going with it, nods with slight hesitance. “No time like the present to test it then,” Magnus continues gleefully, taking Elias by the arm and walking around the protrusion of the raised catwalk.

 

“Alexander, darling,” he coos, emboldened enough by his idea for entertainment that he scarcely worries about addressing the young man. “Go around the back and do a circuit of the walk, would you?”

 

Both Elias and Alec splutter, and Magnus rolls his eyes at both of them fondly.

 

“Well you came all this way, didn’t you? If you can be useful beyond being my company, even better.” He shoos at the model with his hand, and clearly Alec must remember enough about before that he just huffs a bit and then does as he’s told. Magnus won’t take no for an answer once an idea pops up in his head.

 

Magnus pulls Elias over to the seating, climbing up the steps at the end so they can sit in the second row.

 

“Alexander is our show-closer,” he tells Elias, putting him out of his misery because Alec was before his time and Magnus had neglected to introduce them. Maybe he’s heard about him, but Magnus knows it’s better to be clear with someone so highly-strung. His dear assistant wouldn’t want some random creature potentially creating an issue so close to the show. “He is a seasoned professional,” he stresses, when Elias’ face only gets more pinched as he settles down haughtily beside Magnus. He knocks his shoulder against the other’s, perking up when Alec appears from the same place Elias had just moments ago. “Relax. You like watching pretty things as much as I do.”

 

And Magnus isn’t sure Alexander is a pretty thing, exactly, but he’s _something_ as he begins down the runway. Exquisite, perhaps.

 

His entire demeanor has changed, shoulders relaxed and lowered, chin up just enough to denote  absolute confidence as his eyes stare straight ahead with focus. His walk really is so much better than Magnus knew it to be in the early days - even the recording of the D&G show from earlier in the season really didn’t do it justice. It’s less of a walk and more of a _stride_ , absolute conviction in movement. Alec stops at the end, pausing only for a moment before turning on his heel and heading back the way he came. It’s almost like this silly whim of a practice run Magnus had demanded is the real thing - until, that is, Alec turns his head to the side to look at him where he sits, face switched from the cool command of a professional back to just _Alec,_ modest and wondering as always what people think of him, how he’s doing in the eyes of others. It’s this vulnerability within such an unexpected package, the way Alec cares so much and just wants to please, to be enough, that Magnus knows so well, and which he’d coveted so much.

 

Magnus can’t help but offer him a reassuring smile, even deigning to send him a lightning-quick but albeit still cheesy thumbs up. It gets Alec to huff a laugh and turn away, finishing his circuit and disappearing back behind the panels into the back area.

 

“Well,” Elias says, stopping to clear his throat. “That was good.”

 

He seems a little flustered as he curls his arm to cradle his tablet back to his chest and stands up, and Magnus throws his head back and laughs.

 

“Oh darling, I know,” he commiserates, clapping the younger on the shoulders and gently directing him back down from the bleachers.

 

He knows just what it is to be caught off-guard by the appeal of a Lightwood.

 

 

Alec is walking back over to them when Elias checks his watch - a birthday gift from Magnus the year before - and pulls a face that almost looks like a pout.

 

“I’m due a call any minute about the music,” he says, nodding the barest of greetings at Alec when he joins them not out of any rudeness, just preoccupation with other thoughts. The assistant takes a few steps away from their little gathering, before appearing to hesitate. Swiftly, he turns back around and pins Magnus with a stare and a stern, pointed finger. “I’ll be seeing _you_ later,” he vows, finally allowing a charming little smile to filter through his professional facade before he’s crossing the room with purpose, presumably to some little nook or cranny he’s set up a makeshift office space in to take the call, bustling in the way only a flamboyant gay man with business to attend to can.

 

The two of them watch him leave for a moment, before inevitably getting drawn back into each other by sheer virtue of proximity.

 

“So,” Alec begins, dragging it out a little long for it to _not_ be an awkward little start to conversation. “He’s... nice. And stylish, like you.”

 

Magnus huffs a little, crossing his arms. “He’ll be flattered, I’m sure,” he says.

 

“You guys seem close.”

 

“Honestly, he has made my life exponentially better since we met a couple of years ago. A real lifesaver. He’s damn good at coordinating these kinds of things, thank the heavens - and I suppose he’s occasionally fun to be around, when he’s actually able to turn that whole…” Magnus trails off and waves his fingers in the air in front of him demonstratively before finishing, “- thing off.”

 

Things trail off again there, a moment held in suspension for _something_. Magnus feels less on a knife’s edge as he had the previous times this has happened, and maybe that’s a sign that they’re settling a little. He thinks the quiet time they had together in the cab ride over has helped with whatever it is that’s plaguing them, though they’re not quite there yet. Uneasy silences between them is an entirely new thing, though perhaps half-expected.

 

It’s Alec who breaks it just as the pressure to talk ratchets up a notch, pulling out his phone and checking something on screen.

 

“Well, there’s clearly a lot to be done here, and I supposed I’ve been useful by making sure there’s no deathtrap awaiting on the walk -” Magnus knows where this is going, but it’s disappointment rather than relief he feels at Alec pulling away. “And Izzy’s worrying about me going AWOL, so I should probably head out. Don’t wanna keep you away from.. everything.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, sliding his phone back into his jacket pocket. “But I’m glad I got to bump into you and hang out for a while, Magnus. It was great.”

 

And he means it, Magnus can tell.

 

“Same here. You’re welcome to bump into me any time,” he says with some humour, eyes twinkling up at the other man, taller as he is. Alec has already withdrawn a few steps, but he returns the smile.

 

“I mean it,” Magnus finds himself stressing, hand tucked behind his back, thumb twisting at his signature ring. “I’m always happy to talk or hang out with you. That hasn’t changed.” Nor will it ever. He will always be a dear, dear friend. Magnus doesn’t let people in easily, but when he does they’re important for life.

 

They stand there for another moment, just looking at each other, before something like resolve settles on Alec’s face. In the blink of an eye he’s striding forward, closing the gap between him, and wrapping his arms around Magnus’ shoulders in a farewell hug.

 

It’s a shock yes, but it doesn’t take Magnus long to recover, nor to return it. His eyes close as his arms wrap around Alec’s middle, savouring the warmth and comfort that is _Alexander_ for the few short moments the hug lasts before they’re pulling away again. With the contact something inside of him feels lighter. The pain had long since eased to an ache, but now it’s like a fading bruise - still there to be felt if you press it, but nowhere near as debilitating.

 

“I’m really glad,” Alec repeats, kaleidoscope eyes boring straight into Magnus’. “Same here. That’s what I was trying to say the other day, but I’m not good with- I don’t _articulate_ well,” he explains, enunciating those final few words with a kind of exasperation as if he’s repeating something that’s been said to him more than once. “It would mean a lot to me if we stopped the no-talking thing that somehow happened between us.”

 

Magnus smiles and nods. He understands.

 

Alec gives him a small smile, nods in response and leaves.

  
* * *

 

The rest of the day is somewhat of a whirlwind, and Magnus spends it chatting to the foreman of the project to double-check everything’s going well before Elias drags him over to his corner to field emails from press and NYFWM organisers. After the tedium of that is done, they sit side-by-side and go over the guestlist one final time, going off-tangent and bickering enough that even that single endeavour takes almost two hours. By the time he makes it back to his loft his feet are throbbing in his Givenchy boots and he’s ready to collapse face-first onto his bed and not move for as long as his schedule will allow.

 

As soon as he opens the door though, those plans fly out of the window. The rich aroma of cooking hangs in the air, and when Magnus manages to make it deep enough into his home to see his corner kitchen, he realises it’s not an illusion: Ragnor is standing at his stove stirring the contents of a large pot. Now he’s closer, Magnus realises the older man is playing music on his phone - a new song starts and the familiar guitars of a New Order song start up.

 

“Are those flares?” Is how he chooses to greet his friend when he finally gives him a once-over and processes his attire.

 

It’s only now that Ragnor deigns to turn his head to look at him, one hand holding a wooden spoon and the other on his hip, before glancing down towards his trousers and the garish socks beyond the wide hems.

 

“Indeed,” he remarks, obviously somewhat pleased with himself before his attention is back on the stove.

 

Magnus balks a little, because sometimes Ragnor and his fashion choices can be truly incomprehensible. They’re not too dramatic, truthfully, but still rather unfortunate. He refuses to get into it with him right now though, so he just sits down at the counter that separates the kitchen from the rest of the spacious living room. “Just checking. Also - what are you doing here?”

 

Ragnor takes a step to the side so he’s face to face with Magnus’ rather impressive spice rack (that Magnus rarely ever uses himself). “I am here,” he begins, leaning so far forward that his hooked nose is very nearly touching the numerous glass vials and jars so he can read the labels, “because once we enter crunch time you become even more incapable of taking care of yourself. Someone’s got to keep you fed, and Catarina seems quite adamant that she be allowed a life outside of babysitting your sorry arse during business hours.”

 

He can’t really contend with that, so he just pulls a face and shrugs. Truthfully, he knows if he needed her Catarina would be there, but she works hard and she deserves a personal life of her own when she wants it - it doesn’t make their friendship any less. He rests his chin in his palm, content to just watch Ragnor for a while as he selects a few spices then adds them to the pot which, from the smell of things, contains something spicy. Ragnor is, despite his tragic fashion sense and occasional attitude, a very good cook. He’s a well traveled man, and he’s always keen to pick up dishes and recipes from the places he goes to and the people he meets. Knowing his old friend, there’ll be plenty of healthy vegetables packed into the tasty dish to keep him going.

 

“I bumped into Alexander today,” Magnus says after a couple of minutes of companionable silence. The quiet had allowed him to think back to the day he’d had, and Ragnor has always been the one he talks to about these things. He’s glad the other man showed up tonight.

 

“Oh?” Ragnor responds after a short delay, without turning around. It’s a little odd, and Magnus squints over at the man’s back for a second before he decides to let it go.

 

“At Java Jones, on the way to the church.” His friend hums as he settles the lid back on the pot, again moving to the side so he can finally lean against the counter and face Magnus. He’s wearing an X-Ray Spex t-shirt, an original from the late seventies Magnus is sure, faded and maybe a little too tight on him. “He was ahead of me in line but waited with me while they made my drink. Seeing him there was… unexpected, but not entirely awful.”

 

The song changes - another New Order song. Magnus can’t say he’s mad at the soundtrack, the band being one of the few points their musical tastes converge, as Ragnor will always be a bit of a punk at heart and Magnus errs on the more romantic, gothic end of the scale.

 

“He offered to tag along with me since he didn’t have anything on for the rest of the day.” Ragnor looks surprised at that, readjusting the dish towel slung over his shoulder before gesturing impatiently for Magnus to continue. “I thought that maybe it would be good to spend a little time with him again, so I accepted. Everything seems on track over there by the way, since you haven’t bothered to ask at all recently. I even got Alec to do a circuit on the runway to test it out.”

 

“So how is the walk in real life?” It’s a new voice, and both he and Ragnor crane their necks to catch sight of Raphael as he emerges from the entranceway, a plastic bag clutched in one hand.

 

“Better than it looked on video. He walks very well,” Magnus discloses honestly, not even commenting on the fact another of his friends has apparently shown up uninvited. It’s not particularly surprising - Ragnor and Raphael often come as a package deal.

 

The latino huffs as he rustles through plastic to pull out a bottle of wine, settling it on the counter. “He should pay me royalties for that. Lord knows he was nothing before you begged me to help him out.” Magnus smiles as Raphael hands Ragnor the still half-full bag, presumably with some vegetables he had lacked in the meager contents of his refrigerator. He’s less of a chef and more of a order-in kind of man himself, so it isn’t really a surprise that Ragnor had had to send the younger man out on an errand to pick up extra ingredients. It was probably only about fifty percent a ploy to get Raphael away from the kitchen, so that he wouldn’t hover over Ragnor’s shoulder and complain about his technique or timing or anything else he could find fault with.

 

Affection blooms warm in his chest at the thoughtfulness of his friends, and only expands when he watches how Raphael nudges Ragnor aside to test the simmering contents of the pot, immediately bitching at him for not having enough of some spice or other. Ragnor rolls his eyes but does as he’s told, laying a hand on the younger man’s back as he steps to his other side to reach back over to the spice rack. They’re always fascinating to observe, the unique bond they have with each other and the way their personalities both clash and match up perfectly.

 

“So how was it?” Ragnor prompts, glancing back over at Magnus as he gently pushes Raphael aside with his hip so he can get back at the stove.

 

Magnus pauses for a moment to really consider it. “It was good,” he settles on, looking up to see two pairs of eyes watching him. “It was nice actually, to be able to talk to him while not having an emotional freak out like I did the other day. It feels... better. I think that maybe the whole thing can be put aside, and that we can be friends again.” It sounds silly and inane, maybe, hoping to be _friends_ with someone. But Magnus has lived through enough to be able to recognise the importance of friendship in one’s existence. Friends are the family you choose; the people that you have around you to reflect you and your values. They’re the people who stick by you through your lowest and highest moments, not because they feel they _have_ to, but because they want to. Magnus’ friends are the most precious people in his life - the people who helped him build a business, who put the pieces of his broken heart back together, who come around unannounced and cook for him to make sure he’s taken care of when he’s too busy to look after himself. “I was reminded of what drew me to him in the first place, because despite growing up a little, he hasn’t really changed at all. I don’t really want to be without him again.”

 

Ragnor smiles.

 

“I am very glad to hear that, Magnus.”

 

There’s no sass there, none of Ragnor’s trademark acerbic wit or sarcasm. If Magnus couldn’t tell from his tone, the look in the man’s eyes would confirm it for him. Magnus _knows_ Ragnor loves him, as much as the other may be loath to show it most of the time, because Ragnor has always taken care of him, has always offered him advice - both soft and stern depending on what he’d needed at the time. Magnus knows Ragnor wants what’s best for him always, but it still takes him aback somewhat, how invested he seems to be in this particular case. He supposes though, that looking back, Ragnor had always been pretty fond of Alec. His earnest, caring demeanor apparently capable to worm its way into even the most churlish of hearts - not that Ragnor was really that at all.

 

Magnus’ lips curl back up into a smile and he points over to the wine.

 

“You need to open that up, let it breathe for a while before we eat.”

 

Raphael rolls his eyes but goes to do as he’s told anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A turning point maybe???  
> So does Magnus finally have his big boy pants on when it comes to Alec? Will there be any disasters before the show? Will any more characters show up? ~~Will this suddenly become a sex pollen fic?~~  
>  Tune in next time on 'Melodramatic Malec Fashion AU Reunion Fic'!!!
> 
> i made a [youtube playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLEdcM7kHl2j8y3Ptv9sIulvs-4wfvGR7j) for songs that make up the chapter titles or inspire the fic in general. i'll add as we go!  
> i'm on [tumblr](https://disc0veries.tumblr.com/) (kind of! i'm still figuring it out, lmao!) i track the tag **fic: stop the world** !


	6. your love is bright as ever, even in the shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it hurts. i know it feels like betrayal in the face of our enthusiasm and devotion as a fandom, especially delivered in this month when we celebrate how far we've come as the lgbtqa community. i post this chapter in the hope that it adds a little bit of light in the misery of the news we received about the show. but there's still hope, we can do this if we work together. #saveshadowhunters
> 
> just try and remember that even if this doesn't go the way we want, it doesn't change what this show has done for us and for representation in general. shadowhunters showcases strong female characters, a racially-diverse cast, realistic queer characters/relationships and just as important, real human growth. we will always have that. they can't take that from us.
> 
> as always, above all i hope you're happy and healthy! sending good vibes to you all.

 

* * *

 

It’s strange living with someone else. Jace had gotten used to living alone, and even though it’d been nice to have his own space and the freedom of doing whatever he wants with whomever that comes with it, he can’t deny it’s nice to have company.

 

Especially when it’s Alec.

 

The other had gotten sick of Izzy’s overbearingness after almost a week, and had taken up on Jace’s offer to crash at his place and promptly jumped ship. Jace maybe isn’t the most selfless person on Earth, but if there’s anyone he’d lend a favour to it would be a Lightwood; Alec most of all. They hadn’t kept in touch as much as Alec and Izzy had when the eldest Lightwood had been away because it was never really their thing: they were friends - brothers - for life and they knew that. He and Alec had never been the most affectionate of people, especially with each other, so once they’d had their embarrassingly emotional reunion complete with tight hug, they’d quickly settled back into a comfortableness around each other.

 

After a few days, having Alec hang out in his apartment felt as natural as it always had been before he’d left. It was only when the other was around again that Jace really realised how much he’d missed him.

 

It’s the morning of the show, and they’re both up with the sun specially for the occasion. He and Alec talk - sometimes - but its not out of the guy’s character to be a little tight-lipped about some stuff. He hadn’t even explicitly referred to his sexuality until his final year of college, even if Jace and Izzy had known for years before that. It’s just who Alec is - private, slow to share personal stuff, either because he doesn’t want to be a burden or just doesn’t think it’s relevant. The Magnus stuff… Well, he’d never told Izzy much when it was happening, to her endless frustration.  As his best friend, Jace had been privy to a little of what was going on at the time, but nothing since Alec had dropped the Italy bomb on him and told him gravely that he and Magnus were ‘not anything, not anymore’.

 

Honestly, Jace doesn’t feel any particular way about Magnus Bane. Yeah, he’s an interesting guy, funny occasionally, but Jace isn’t as fond of him as Izzy is. All he wants is for Alec - uptight, reserved, wallflower Alec - to be happy. Magnus did that, even if it was only for a little while. So it’s natural, for Jace to be invested in what’s happening now four years down the line.

 

“And it really isn’t awkward?” he asks over his shoulder, picking out the toast from the toaster and hissing as it burns his fingertips.

 

Alec’s sitting at the table with a coffee, the kitchen window beside him open and letting in the crisp morning air, the distant wail of the city’s constant sirens filtering into the room as a byproduct. “No, not really. It wasn’t like we…” Alec’s never been the best at verbalising himself, and here is no different. He pauses awkwardly for half a second, trying to find the right words, “...broke up, on bad terms.” Jace wonders if they even got the point of being official enough to warrant the term 'break up'.

 

He hums. “Maybe not, but you also didn’t talk at all for like, four years after that, which is a little awkward.”

 

“It just didn’t feel right to, I guess. Not ‘til I saw him face to face.”

 

Sounds like some kind of weird Romeo and Juliet bullshit to Jace, but whatever floats their boat he supposes. He’s not one to criticise the workings of romantic relationships when he’s not exactly an expert himself. He carries his buttered toast over to the table, turning one of the rickety chairs around to sit on backwards as he chomps down happily, sensing that Alec has more to say and willing to wait him out. With Alec it usually just takes a little patience.

 

“It does feel a little weird, though,” Alec allows after another moment, long fingers playing with the handle of his mug. “Like, there’s no bad feelings but it just... feels as if it's not how it’s supposed to be between us? That sounds dumb, huh.”

 

Jace is not good at giving advice or being wise, but he knows enough to recognize that Alec’s feelings are warranted. Even Jace had been surprised by how apparently at ease Alec was around Magnus, which never really happened with his friend. “I think that’s normal." he placates, not wanting to pander to Alec's usual self-deprecation. "I mean, amicable or not, you guys ended it prematurely. It wasn’t like the relationship ran its course, or like either of you didn’t want each other anymore.” Alec looks like he’s going to say something, and Jace holds his hands up, wondering if he worded that wrong. “I’m not saying it was a mistake to do it, or the wrong decision. Leaving to Italy was an amazing experience that you couldn’t turn down. It just came at a--" he's trying really hard not to fuck this up like he's been known to do with his poor choice of words, "-- a not ideal time?”

 

Alec just stays quiet, staring down at the coffee in his cup with a pensive look on his face.

 

“Alec,” Jace begins, the single word heavy with what he’s about to say. It’s not like them to be overly emotional or talk about _feelings_ , but they do when it’s necessary. That’s what best friends are for. “You were never really comfortable in your own skin before, were you? You seem so much better now. To me, to Izzy. I know you feel it yourself, too. Yeah, you had to give stuff up, but can you imagine if you hadn’t gone?”

 

“I know,” Alec allows, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “I just wish I could have had both.”

 

“Don’t regret it,” Jace says fiercely, with a quiet force to it. This, he’s sure of. “That would be a disservice to yourself and to Magnus.”

 

“I can’t regret it. That’s the worst thing.”

 

Jace wonders just how guilty it makes Alec feel, to know that when it’s all said and done, that he doesn’t regret leaving Magnus, leaving it _all_ behind, to the point where if he had the chance to go back and change things he would. To know that he’s _glad_ he went. It would be so Alec, to feel bad for being selfish, even if it was the right thing for him.

 

“Then that’s how you know it was the right decision,” he says, reaching over the table to give Alec a companionable slap on the bicep.

 

He wants that complicated, pensive expression gone from Alec’s face. He grins. “So hey, today’s the big day. You think that hot redhead’s gonna be there?”

 

That does it - Alec rolls his eyes and rises to dump his mug in the tiny sink. “Her name is _Clary_ and yes, probably. Though the last time I witnessed you two having a conversation it wasn’t really a conversation at all because she was purposefully _ignoring you_.” And that’s it. Heart-to-heart over. He thinks they’re probably both a little relieved.

 

Jace grins as he watches Alec leave the kitchen, presumably to get ready. “Hey, that was years ago. I’m a new man now.”

 

“New man _my ass_ ,” Alec calls over his shoulder before the door to Jace’s spare room shuts with a snap.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Pandemonium. Absolute, hellish pandemonium.

 

Magnus would like to think of himself as a creature of chaos, but that’s probably - definitely - not true. Especially not today. The backstage area of the show venue is mostly an entirely different room in the church, but there’s a small corridor made from temporary walling that runs along the back of the main room, connecting the end of the runway to the door leading to all the hair and makeup and everything else - keeping the messy freneticism of behind the scenes hidden from the rows and rows of elegant and immaculate spectators that will soon fill the the benches bracketing the runway. It’s in this dark, fairly cramped space that he’s pacing. Everything is hot and stuffy and his limp, as-yet unstyled hair hangs over his forehead. He’d got an evening slot for his show, a blessing as it gives him more time of day to prepare, but also a curse because that’s also more time to worry over every single minute detail.

 

“And all the pamphlets have been set on the seats?” he asks as he turns, looking for something without actually knowing _what_. This must be his fourth time asking at least, but he can barely remember the response and his nerves demand he asks again anyway.

 

Elias just nods, devoid of judgement because by now he knows how Magnus gets in the hours before the show. “I had a couple of assistants do it almost half an hour ago, then I checked myself.”

 

Magnus nods. “Good, good. And security knows--”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Elias confirms. “They’re onsite and checking everyone who shows up is supposed to be here.”

 

The models have only just started arriving, which is the reason for Magnus’ latest spiral into neurosis. The hair and makeup team have been here setting up for a while, and he’s already held a briefing with them to make sure they’re all on the same page in regards to styling and the timeframe they’re on.

 

“And what about--”

 

Movement catches Magnus’ eye and he cuts off his own question, turning his head to see Ragnor step quickly from the back room into his freak-out corridor. “Abdul and Greg just finished up,” he says almost breathlessly, brandishing his phone as he hurries to Magnus’ side.

 

Say what you want about social media and cell phones ruining society, but it all comes in very handy when you want to know if the other shows at Fashion Week are on schedule and more importantly, what they’re actually showing, as soon as possible.

 

“Show me, show me,” Magnus says, pressing his shoulder to Ragnor’s so he can better see the phone’s screen. He has the twitter app open, and it seems some of the guests for the _Abasi Rosborough_ show have already started to upload photos - Magnus is a fan of the brand, and he lets his eyes track over each photo as Ragnor swipes through them. There’s a lot of light neutrals, mixed in with the odd swatch of darker, mostly pinstriped fabrics, both incorporated into silhouettes featuring relaxed drop-crotch pants and a mixture of collarless kimono-like jackets and exquisitely-constructed utilitarian tailoring.

 

“I love that fabric,” he gushes, pointing to an [ outfit comprised of a black-and-tan patterned linen ](https://static1.squarespace.com/static/522e5838e4b08c58ebe3eb13/t/58ab8ae6d482e9eb8d564222/1487637299303/?format=1500w) and Ragnor nods in agreement. Next is a [ navy ensemble ](https://static1.squarespace.com/static/522e5838e4b08c58ebe3eb13/t/58ab8c3aa5790a9ca62814f0/1487637623822/?format=1500w) that looks to have an almost polka-dot print that Magnus would _definitely_ wear, and he makes a note to enquire about purchasing it once the craziness is over with.

 

To the side of their two-man huddle Elias shifts his weight from foot to foot, tapping at something on his tablet. “We should head back in,” he says, nodding towards the doorway of the prep-room. “It’s getting busy in there.”

 

Magnus nods and leads the way, immediately noticing the increase in the number of people. The noise of their chatter now fills the large room where before it was quiet enough that Magnus’ anxiety could only spike, leading him to more or less hide-out in his Tunnel of Panic. All too soon the lights in the main room will dim to the show lighting and guests will start arriving; they’ll take their seats and then the low murmur of their conversations will filter through to here, a subtle undercurrent to the room’s general hubbub. Not yet, though. Right now those people’s minds are elsewhere: they’re at a different show observing clothes quietly in the dark of the sidelines, or keeping up on social media, or frantically scarfing down a quick snack or meal as they travel across the city between shows. Magnus can’t worry about them, not yet. He has precisely a million _other_ things to worry about first.

 

The few female models in the lineup are already stripped down to the bare minimum of clothing as they sit in chairs in front of brightly-lit mirrors - the hair stylists generally have a bit more to do with them, so elected to schedule them in first. Magnus smiles and says hello to each of them as he passes, projecting his usual charisma so they don’t pick up how stressed he is. It’ll all be over in a few hours, and then he can really let loose at the after party, but for now as far as he’s concerned he has to be tense and ready for any mishap or disaster that could occur between now and the final model leaving the runway, anything that could threaten the show he’s been preparing for _months_ now.

 

He’s pointing at racks as he passes, mumbling to himself and mentally counting even if he’s not sure what it’ll achieve. He trusts the army of assistants and interns he has running around the place to have everything in order, but he remains a man unable to fully relinquish control. Another group of models enter the room, chatting and laughing, and Magnus glances over at their varied beauty and envies each and every one of them for how carefree they currently are. He vaguely remember what it is to be so unrestricted by the heavy weights of life and obligation.

 

“Okay, so-” he spins on his heel to face Ragnor and Elias who are still trailing him. “Soundsystem is working and the music is queued,” Elias nods; “security is already stationed at all the exits, authorised personnel only; ushers have been briefed,” both Ragor and Elias nod this time; “and the flowers are--”

 

“The flowers are _fine_ ,” Elias finally snaps, with a roll of his eyes. Magnus _knows_ this, because he was here at the earliest possible hour with Elias to receive the delivery, but he _has_ to ask. “I understand Magnus, honestly I do,” he says, voice softening somewhat as he steps forward to rest a comforting hand on Magnus’ arm. “But trust me when I say we’ve got this. And so help me god, if you ask me the same questions one more time _I will end you._ ”

 

Magnus blinks. “Well, that’s… good to know,” he says slowly, a little taken aback by the fire in his executive assistant’s eyes. Yes, if anyone’s got things under control, it’s someone as fierce as dear Elias. Thank god for Catarina’s superior recruitment skills because Magnus might well have perished already without him.

 

“Magnus!”

 

He turns his head at the call of his name only to see one of the most welcome sights in all of New York. “Lightwoods,” he greets, fondness creeping into his tone as he feels himself perk up immediately at the sight of the siblings. He supposes he has the time spent with Alec just a few days ago to thank for the fact he know longer feels the ugly weight of dread in his stomach at the sight of him. This… effervescence in his stomach is a lot more familiar. “And Jace. And Samuel. Hello to you _all_.”

 

Simon scoffs, knowing that Magnus refuses to call him by the right name on purpose, but Magnus’ attention is temporarily drawn away by Elias, who gives his arm a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll call for you if something comes up,” he promises, giving him a quick smile before pulling away and dragging Ragnor along with him as he bustles away elsewhere.

 

“We didn’t mean to interrupt,” Isabelle says with a lilt to her voice, and Magnus rolls his eyes.

 

“My dear, the only thing you’re interrupting is my pre-show neuroticism, and you are _always_ welcome to interrupt that, or anything else for that matter.” He reaches forward to take her hand and drop a kiss to each of her cheeks. “It’s been too long since we’ve talked face-to-face. That dress looks stunning on you.”

 

Isabelle’s eyes light up at the compliment and Magnus’ fond smile widens as a direct response to the sight. He is endlessly fond of the Lightwood girl. She’s beautiful, but more important than that she’s grown into the most wonderful woman in the last few years - self-possessed, strong and pure of heart. He doesn’t think he could bear to say it out loud, but she struck gold with Simon, too. He’s just as kind and thoughtful as her, and is so much better for her than the endless number of handsome, shallow men in the fashion industry she could have dated through work. They’re just… they're _good_ , as people and with and for each other. Magnus grins when Simon grumbles about him flirting with his girlfriend right in front of him, Izzy laughs and tugs on his plaid shirt with perfectly manicured fingers.

 

And just like that, Magnus can’t stop himself. Dark, kohl-lined eyes drift to Alec, who smiles down at his sister before meeting his gaze.

 

“Hi,” the man says softly, his small smile even sweeter as he looks down just the slightest bit into Magnus’ eyes. Everything fizzles out for a blissful second, and Magnus feels his eyes crinkle at the corners as he offers the greeting back, feeling just a little shy in the face of everything the sight of Alec makes him feel.

 

He takes a breath. “With the exception of this one,” he starts again, with a nod towards Alec, “you’re earlier than I expected.”

 

Simon grins, fingers plucking at the lanyard that’s hanging around his neck. “Gotta use these babies as much as poss,” he declares, dangling the laminate that demonstrates their backstage access with waggling eyebrows. Magnus wants to roll his eyes at the tragic abbreviation but smiles anyway because he’s just so _sweet_. Simon is like a fungus, he grows on you. “Plus, Jace wants to get shot down by Clary again.”

 

Immediately, Magnus’ brows furrow and he turns to Jace, pointing an accusatory finger at the man. He doesn’t have anything against him, but occasionally the blond _can_ be a bit of an ass, even if he is charming whilst doing it. The last time he’d been at Magnus’ show was years ago - the last time Alec modelled for him, unsurprisingly - and he’d been enamored by the fiery redhead Magnus had taken on as an intern as a favour to her mother. He’d had a soft spot for the girl then, and by now she’s a cross between a sort of niece and a dear friend - one of the few young people he’d apparently adopted over the years, most of whom are stood in front of him now. What a strange and wonderful life he leads. “I’d threaten you, but I know she can handle you just fine herself. She’s around here somewhere if you’d like to get your rejection over with sooner rather than later.” Jace rolls his stunning pretty boy eyes but then he’s off without even speaking a word, waving them all off and presumably going to find wherever Clary is.

 

“Oh well it’s a shame we can’t enjoy his amazing personality for a little longer,” Simon says, putting on a show of exaggerated disappointment at the blonde’s departure, before he’s grinning. “However, I’m sure his huge ego can survive the blow he’s inevitably going to get dealt.”

 

Magnus snorts, before he notices one of the assistants waving at him from across the room. “Well, it would seem I’ve got to go…” he glances at Simon and Isabelle, feeling the need to act the host even when he clearly has plenty of other things to be doing, “you guys are on the left side as you walk in, second row. Feel free to hang out back here until other guests start arriving, there’s couches and water and some catering…” The assistant’s movements are getting a bit more frantic now, and Magnus frowns over at them, gesturing he’ll be just one second and _can you wait, please_ with raised eyebrows and a jerky movement of his arm. “Alexander,” he says, resting a hand on the man’s tanned forearm. “Most of the staff have a copy of the schedule, so check when and where your styling is with one of them. Be good, _don’t_ show these two your outfit before the show and for the love of God _do_ _not_ sustain a debilitating injury before you step onto that runway.” Alexander waves him off with a chuckle, Izzy and Simon calling out their ‘good luck’s to his back as he bustles away.

  


 

And it’s back to bedlam after that. At one point, he almost runs right into Catarina on his way to triple-check some inane detail and she pulls him aside, pushing him into a chair at a styling station so that he can take a second to breathe. She shoves a sandwich and a bottle of water at him and stares him down until he eats and hydrates since he obviously can't be trusted to take care of himself on days like these. That quickly leads to some unoccupied stylist taking advantage of his stasis to restyle his hair for him. Usually he _loves_ any kind of pampering, especially when it’s spontaneous like this, but he grumbles and fidgets the whole time because he could be _doing something else_ \- even if he has to admit he looks and feels much better once it’s done. Elias refused to let him have a headset like the rest of the coordinating staff earlier in the day, and it’s just as well because it’d be impossible to wear now - if it hadn’t already driven him mad hearing every little worry or problem over the radio.

 

Finally free, he stands from the chair and drains the last of his water. According to Elias’ latest update, all the models are present and accounted for, with their hair and makeup either done or very close to it. As such, there’s a bunch of beautiful, dark, ethereal creatures milling around the place, mostly in their underwear as they head towards the racks to don their looks. It’s an undeniably strange but enthralling sight, and once again Magnus is floored by the expansive, varied beauty of the human race - the people here are all different colors, builds and looks, each person carrying their own atmosphere. The styling itself is somewhat varied too, but still strangely cohesive - the hair ranges from wild and natural to sleek and expertly coiffed, each model embodying a character Magnus designated to their outfit. The makeup is almost tribal - strong brows, severe contouring and dark, intense smears of shadow over the eyes, some glitter here and there on the occasional model.

 

The pamphlet for the show includes an explanation of the inspiration behind the collection:

_"We are the creatures of the night. While you sleep in your beds we haunt, prowl and stalk the darkened city streets not for victims but to find somewhere we can live in peace; where we can find others like us, people who understand and love us for who we are. We move in tribes – seelies, werewolves, vampires, warlocks and those destined to dwell in the in-between, to make sure our world doesn’t collide with the warmth and safety of the mundane. We are legend, a pretty story endlessly romanticized, but if you get too close you might just see our world isn’t as pretty as it seems. This is the Shadow World to your Light. We are the Downworlders."_

 

Watching them as they dress, he marvels at the way the cast really has become the faeries, vampires, warlocks and warriors he’d envisioned for this collection.

  
Among the few members of press granted all-access to the event there’s a writer/photographer pair from Vogue here, and Magnus can’t blame the man behind the camera for snapping various people and scenes within the large, black room as they prepare for the show. It’s more raw back here, the models almost more striking in their half-dressed state spread among the staff members destined to remain their mundane selves. He’s glad this is all being documented - not just this beautiful, fleeting moment in particular, but everything.  He feels such a strong affinity for the theme and inspiration, not to mention how proud he is of the collection itself, that he just knows this collection, this season, is important. Heavens, he hasn’t felt this way since the first collection Alec single-handedly inspired. This whole show has felt bigger, has felt like _more_ than most right from its conception, but Magnus can’t deny that everything was amplified further the moment he received that phone call from Ragnor all those weeks ago bearing the news of Alexander's return. If nothing else, this will always be the collection where Alec came back to him, if only for a while.

 

Speaking of -- Magnus seeks him out the moment the thoughts of him surface, but he can’t see him for all the other bodies in the room. Truthfully, it’s probably a good thing - if he’s in any state comparable to the rest of the models he’ll probably drive Magnus to distraction… or despair.

 

“Thirty minutes until showtime. That’s thirty minutes!!”

 

When - when did that happen? The plastic bottle crinkles and creaks in his tightening grip, because once again the fickle mistress Time has snuck up on him. There’s no way they’re even close to ready, they won’t be on time and what if--

 

“You know how they say some mothers develop a sort of sixth sense about their child being in distress?” Ragnor quips as he sweeps over to Magnus’ side out of nowhere. “I’m almost positive I could feel your despair as vivid as a persistent itch in my backside.” Magnus rolls his eyes, and would say something sarcastic in return but he’s distracted by Catarina’s hand settling on his shoulder at his other side.

 

“We’re right on schedule, Magnus,” she promises, sending him a smile, before leaning around him to square a look at the eldest of the trio. “And please, for the love of all things holy, _never_ bring up your ‘backside’ in conversation ever again. Or any kind of itch you may have, for that matter.”

 

Ragnor puts a hand to his chest and proclaims offense, and as they descend into meaningless squabble over him, Magnus finds himself able to take a breath and relax a little. This is familiar. And whatever he does, he will _always_ have his two best friends by his side. “Alright,” he says, a little louder than normal just to break up their attempt to put him at ease (and damn if it didn’t work like a charm). “Let’s go and make sure nobody destroys anything as they put it on, and that they’re wearing the right stuff.” Because inevitably there’ll be a few last minute snafus that have the next half hour going by all too quickly. The other two nod and with that they all separate, each taking a separate segment of the line of models without saying a word.

 

He straightens crowns and headdresses made of twigs, rearranges long waved hair with flowers woven into the strands, locates a lost shoe and half a dozen miscellaneous accessories. One model contracted stomach flu right after the fitting and lost a few pounds from the illness so he has to cinch the waist in a little more with pins. PAs are running around making sure the models are hydrated and feeling alright, makeup artists are removing accidental smudges or topping up on highlights and powder, and the show coordinators are yelling over the rest of the noise trying to get the models lined up by the door before they move into the darkened corridor connecting to the runway, where they’ll all have to be silent. Eventually Magnus gets to the end of his section and the back of the entire line, where of course Alec waits.

 

In an outstanding lack of his usual grace, Magnus trips on absolutely nothing.

 

He’s too old for public embarrassment though, so he just shakes it off and quirks a smile, acting like it never even happened.

 

“Well fancy meeting you here,” he croons, and the corners of Alec’s eyes crinkle adorably as he grins at him, white teeth flashing.

 

He truly is the sweetest boy Magnus has ever met. Magnus’ soul soars at the sight of him.

 

It’s always jarring to see Alec all prepped and preened in his modelling work, but even in the last show he walked for Magnus all those years ago, and all the photoshoots in glossy fashion magazines the designer has pored over since, he’s never been so… well, _made up._ His hair is his trademark messy bedhead, though it’s all the more carelessly sexy for the professional styling job done on it, but that’s not what’s so different. All the models, male and female and whatever inbetween, have just as much makeup on as each other, and Alexander is no exception - his cheekbones stand out in stark relief due to the strong contouring blended into his skin, and across his eyes is a thick, rough swipe of black eyeshadow, making him look strong and intense and _wild._ Magnus has to swallow down his reaction, forcing another quick smile.

 

“Leaving your coat off until the last second?” he asks, nodding at the voluminous pile of black faux-fur draped over his forearm.

 

Alec laughs and confirms his suspicions, saying something about heatstroke maybe before continuing to talk, but Magnus is a little preoccupied with the realisation that all Alexander has on his top half is that extremely fine knit, which is only just a step up from _mesh_ in how much it obscures the skin beneath.

 

“-agnus?” He jolts out of his daze, blinking up at Alec who’s looking at him in confusion.

 

“Sorry, I checked out for a second there. Constant stress of the day and all that.” He hopes the flourish of his hand is enough to distract the other from the fact he'd blatantly just been checking him out. Four years ago he wouldn't have even tried to hide it but, well. Now they're  _friends._ “What did you say, my dear?”

 

Alec twists his hips, lifting the coat out of the way to more of less brandish his thigh at Magnus. “I asked if this holster was supposed to be tighter? It feels kind of loose.”

 

“Oh! Let me-”

 

And then, _dear God._ Before he realizes it, Magnus is crouched down at Alec’s side, undoing the top buckle of the black holster fixed around Alec’s _thigh._ He tries his best not to think of the skin and strong muscle under the fabric brushing against the backs of his fingers as the feeds the strap through the buckle a little more. Honestly, he’s done more invasive things adjusting garments and accessories for other models just in the last fifteen minutes, but it feels intimate here. Magnus’ heart races in his chest as his long fingers move to the bottom buckle to tighten it up just the same. When he’s done, miraculously with no clumsiness, he slips two fingers beneath the straps one after the other to double-check it’s not too tight.

 

“That looks better with the pants now, you’re right that it was a little loose” he says, slapping his hands over his knees as he looks up at Alec. “Does it feel okay?” Alec, for his part, is just staring down at Magnus, mouth agape. Magnus immediately feels heat bloom over his cheeks and he rushes to stand; wonders if his lightheadedness is because of the sudden movement or because of Alec. The model blinks, snapping out of it, and nods wordlessly.

 

Professional, Magnus Bane. Be professional. He nods and then holds his hands out for the coat. Alexander, still seeming somewhat adrift, pushes the mound of fabric towards him, nodding back. Tan hands shake the bundle out so it resembles a garment once more, turning it in his grasp and moving behind Alec so the model can better shrug it on. Once he’s wearing it Magnus steps back around him, once again reverting to the old familiarity of navigating around Alec’s form and immediately begins to fuss over it. He adjusts the way it’s sitting on the man’s frame until he’s happy with the way it settles just on the balls of his shoulders, like its either on its way to being shrugged off or pulled on. This way the knit beneath is still plenty visible, and the oversized coat simultaneously swamps Alec and emphasises his strong build. Magnus can’t resist sweeping his hands lightly over the line of his shoulders once more, before nodding in satisfaction. “One last thing,” he says quietly despite the noise around them, like he doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

 

He reaches out to the table beside the rack which held the accessories for the last few models - now it just holds one. It’s a crown, or something like it. There’s only five of them featured in the show, one for each of the tribes he imagined. They’re all made of the same black-painted twigs, but all are of different heights and featuring unique embellishments - butterflies, red jewels, crystals or sprigs of holly. Alec’s however lacks any additional decoration, just a simple arrangement of the spindly twigs reaching upwards, perhaps unremarkable on the surface but still denoting the strength and respect of a leader. Holding it in his hands he feels irrationally nervous, like he’s handing Alec the universe, or maybe something a lot more private. It’s ridiculous probably, but the thought still makes his hands shake a little as he lifts it up high, Alec ducking a little to better assist Magnus as he places it over unruly dark hair. It fits nicely - thank God - and the designer manages to restrain himself to only a few moments of adjustment before he steps back to survey the finished project.

 

“There. Now it’s all perfect.”

 

Everything has been made perfect just by virtue of Alec being here again.

 

Alec smiles, small and just for Magnus, until one of the show coordinators at the front of the line is calling a five minute warning and leading the models out into the makeshift corridor. Dread washes over Magnus at the announcement and he feels all colour drain from his face, but Alec stays calm and relaxed. He reaches over to grasp Magnus’ hand. “The collection is incredible-” he says, and just as Magnus tries to blow him off, Alec shakes his head once and grips his hand a little tighter. “It is. Everyone looks amazing. The show is gonna go off without a hitch and everyone’s going to be praising you after. Your work is good and you _deserve this._ ”

 

Magnus has a fair number of encouraging friends. But hearing this stern assurance from Alec - well, it’s everything. To have his approval and confidence warms him in a way nothing else could touch. He squeezes back and then drops their hands, conscious of the people still around him.

 

“Thank you, Alexander,” he says softly, before the models in front of them start walking forward. Alec smiles and nods once more, and then follows the people ahead of him towards the corridor.

 

The designer trails behind the models all lined up like school children, and once he makes into the corridor himself he spots Ragnor and Catarina already huddled around the small monitor pushed towards the wall. He watches his feet as he dances around cables and trailing hems and limbs to get to them. The screen is one of the only sources of light in the dark space of the makeshift tunnel, and as he squeezes between them to take the seat left for him he sees that it’s already showing the feed from the camera set up above and behind the guests on one side of the auditorium, offering an unobstructed view of the catwalk.

 

The temporary wall dividers that separate them from the room don’t reach the ceiling, which means there’s barely any filtering of the speculative murmurs and last-minute chats between the audience members. What’s even more nerve-wracking however, is the near-deafening hush that falls over them all the moment the lights dim and the music played quietly over the speakers stops. Magnus feels his breath catch in his throat at the nerves, because this collection just like all the others is his soul and he’s baring it to the world, opening himself up to commentary and criticism, and even the most confident person would be a little shaken by that. Catarina’s small hand takes hold of one of his own, and he looks down at the beautiful sight of their contrasting skin tones twined together before he seeks out her face in the dark. She smiles at him and nods, the gesture speaking everything about her confidence in him and her endless solidarity as his friend. Ragnor nudges him on his other side, and Magnus turns to him.

 

“Your best so far,” he says quietly to him, though he doesn’t bother to look away from the screen. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

 

Magnus nods, a thanks to them but also an assurance to himself. He’s proud of this. It means so much to him. That won’t change no matter what any stranger says about him on the internet or in a magazine. The people around him are all that matters, and they have his back for life.

 

As if whoever’s stationed at the sound desk was waiting for Magnus to come to that conclusion, as soon as he feels himself settle the bass of the first backing track for the show pulses through the speakers. The lady with the headset and the clipboard who’d made all the countdown announcements is stationed at the bottom of the few steps leading up to the back of the catwalk, and she gestures to the first model - Meliorn, a man with dark, shoulder-length hair with blue flashes in it and the most gorgeous eyes. He ascends the steps, the draped netting and thin linen of his long, sleeveless jacket billowing behind him.  Suddenly the designer is so glad he entrusted Meliorn with this vital position - picking the right opening model and look is essential in creating that crucial first impression. Meliorn is one of those models that’s almost spell-binding on his own, and as such the atmosphere his presence creates is perfect to start off the show. He looks ethereal with the makeup and styling, and will appear more than at home in the jarring, somehow-mystical environment of the almost industrial staging, bundles of flowers suspended above, trailing down overhead. Magnus’ eyes flicker to the screen, where Meliorn emerges into the light and makes his way down the catwalk.

 

And with that, the show begins.

 

It’s obsessive, the way he focuses on the small, grainy screen, its output harsh to the eyes against the darkness of their surroundings. Magnus must have gradually inched forwards in his scrutiny, because by the time they’re about halfway through the model cycle he’s nearly doubled over, practically on the edge of his seat. He watches as models progress down the runway, stop at the end for a brief moment before they’re turning to double back, more following the same path behind them. Distantly, he registers the models queued up beside their huddle shuffle forwards and ascend the stairs one by one, their numbers dwindling, but he has no energy or time to afford them smiles or wishes for luck. His heart wouldn’t be in it, anyway. It isn’t until a hand sweeps over his shoulder blades that he’s jolted out of his intense concentration, and when he glances over he sees it’s Alec, who looks perhaps even more glorious in the darkness of the waiting area. He raises those thick eyebrows of his and then offers a schoolboy smile, which Magnus can’t help but return. It’s only then that he realises how close to the end they are - the penultimate model is climbing the steps leaving only Alec as the last. Then it’s his time. The lady gestures at him and he turns a smile to her too, jumping on the spot and shrugging his shoulders a couple of times before long legs carry him up to the catwalk’s level. There’s shuffling at the other end of the corridor, and Magnus sees Meliorn leading the models already done with their first circuit into lining up for their second.

 

Catarina squeezes the hand she still has twined with Magnus to get his attention, and then he’s whipping his head around once more to watch the monitor.

 

It’s like the time a few days previous, when Alec had ‘tested’ out the catwalk at Magnus’ insistence, and yet at the same time nothing like it. Alec has effortlessly slid into his professional demeanor once more, posture and gait a complete contrast to the modest, somewhat-reserved man those around him know him to be. Now he radiates the confidence and masculinity Magnus had seen him exhibit on runways before - but, as Magnus squints and draws closer to the screen, there’s something else.

 

Strength. Authority.

 

He embodies the outfit he exhibits and the character Magnus half-imagined for him perfectly. Naturally, as the closing model people’s attentions are fixed on him, but Magnus thinks to himself that if he can feel something watching him on a shitty closed-circuit television, then they _must_ be getting it out there, too. He’s loathe to take his gaze from Alec’s form for even a second, but he can’t resist cataloguing the way heads turn to follow him as he passes them to reach the end of the runway, and then again in the other direction when he proceeds back the way he came.

 

“Thank god,” he breathes once Alec is almost out of sight, relief flooding every cell in his body at the fact that one more time, they’ve pulled this off. Each time Magnus finds himself flush with inspiration he eventually comes to doubt himself, worrying about the critics. But he has a support system, and an infinite number of consummate professionals that help him make his vision successfully come to life. It should get easier he thinks; the more he does it the more he should get used to it. But the reality of this industry is that the pressure to perform to your previously established standard - no, to _outperform_ yourself - each time is very, very real. The truth is, it’s really fucking hard to come back season after season. It's crazy and it's stressful and it's exhausting. But he still wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

He, Ragnor and Catarina all seem to stand in the exact same moment, and there’s smiles and hugs all round. Magnus pulls away from their huddle and reaches out to lay a hand on Meliorn’s arm.

 

“Perfect,” is his assurance, eyes twinkling at the other man. “A perfect opening. Thanks so much, Meliorn.”

 

“It’s my pleasure,” the man intones, offering Magnus a regal nod of his head. “Thank you for the trust.”

 

It’s then that the co-ordinator breaks in, waving her arms to get the smiling and whispering models’ attention as the song playing over the soundsystem comes to an end, switching to the next. “Okay, let’s get this roundup done!”

 

With Meliorn once again in the lead, the models pass him in a seemingly endless stream of beauty, taking to the catwalk one after the other, closer together than the first circuit for the final roundup of all of the looks featured in the show. As soon as Meliorn reappears on the catwalk the crowd erupts into a steady applause, showing their appreciation for the show and the collection, and Magnus finally loses the weight that’s been hanging over him for _weeks._ He can enjoy this now, which is just as well since he’ll be taking to the runway himself after Alec, to show his face to the guests who have so kindly travelled to view his collection tonight.

 

Once again, before he knows it they’ve reached the end of the line and Alec stands in front of him.

 

“Told you,” he says with a cheeky grin, hopping up to the first step of the staircase before stopping. Magnus tilts his head in confusion, until Alec twists, offering his hand to Magnus. “Are you coming or not, Magnus Bane?”

 

The designer can’t help it, he laughs in delight, turning to blow Ragnor and Catarina a kiss before grabbing Alec’s hand and running up the steps with him. Their fingers lace together without any decision on their part, but Magnus doesn’t even notice. All he can think about is the fact that in this moment, as he steps into the blinding lights of the runway with Alec by his side, he feels like he can do _anything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly this fic is just about how much i (and magnus bane) love alexander gideon lightwood and i'm not sorry about that.
> 
> for people who are interested, here's the inspiration/fashion stuff referenced in this chapter!!  
> i have a (crudely compiled) [moodboard for the downworlders collection!](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1VRUXDwd57CeqJIbVu5aoOv_G8EJwQs30q-4jFA40va8/edit?usp=sharing) you can also find the _Abasi Rosborough_ collection referenced in this chapter [here!!](http://abasirosborough.com/epoch) and yep, it's pretty standard to have some female models in a mens fashion show!
> 
> [i'm also on tumblr!](https://disc0veries.tumblr.com/) i reblog a lot of shadowhunters gifs, but i also post snippets and inspiration for my fics! i'd love to chat to you over there/discover more blogs to follow! (honestly i need to diversify my dash!!)
> 
> please talk to me in the comments also!! feel free to make suggestions or ask questions!!


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